The Hand That Feeds You
by Ludub
Summary: AU story: The BAU team are investigating a kidnapping when they stumble upon an abused child in a basement. Can the team help them recover, and what if things aren't exactly as they seem?
1. Chapter 1

**(Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters)**

 **Just had this idea pop into my head the other day and I had to get it down before I forgot about it.**

 **Please review. I'd love to know what you think :-) Go on... You know you want to. Don't be shy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"Morgan and Prentiss, take the front" said Hotch, as they prepared to enter the property, "Rossi, you're with me… We'll take the back…"

They all checked their vests and weapons before approaching. Hotch had already called it in to the local police, requesting backup, but they couldn't afford to wait. Adrianna Hernandez had been missing for over 14 hours and Garcia had only just narrowed the search to this address, one of three. Teams were heading to the other two locations, but the BAU team happened to be close to this one. If the girl was being held here then they probably only had a short window to save her.

As soon as Hotch and the other two began to make their way round the back of the property, Morgan motioned to Prentiss that he would take the lead and began to move forwards.

The property was a small wooden house in one of the rougher suburban neighbourhoods of Las Vegas; somewhere that people might label as 'white trash', but even in an area as poor as this one, the house stood out as being uncared for. The front yard was full of shoulder height weeds, making it difficult to find any kind of path, and blocking the view of the house inside. To make matters worse, people seemed to be using it as a dumping ground for old furniture and bags of garbage. There was a burnt-out couch and an old TV set, and even a mattress and what looked like a smashed up child's bed frame. Getting to the house was an obstacle course in itself, and given the warnings to 'KEEP OUT' that were spray painted on the once-white picket fence, Morgan wondered if there might even be booby traps hidden among the long grass.

"Watch where you put your feet" he whispered to Prentiss as he picked his way through the weeds, "Follow my lead…"

"Got it" she replied, carefully matching each of his steps, putting her foot exactly where his had been. They couldn't be too careful. The Jacobs brothers were known for placing explosive devices and even using animal traps.

Morgan got to the bottom of the steps and looked up at the house. It wasn't a welcoming sight. The windows looked like they hadn't been washed in years and to make matters worse, someone had taped brown paper bags all over the inside of them using duct tape. It was impossible to see in or out. The front door had wooden slats haphazardly nailed across the glass panels, with the words 'Go Away!' scribbled in faded black sharpie. On the wall between the door and the only front-facing window, someone had spray-painted the words 'I HAVE EYES TOO!'

' _This is creepy as hell!'_ thought Morgan, ' _Like some kind of freaky-ass zombie movie...'_

He glanced at Prentiss, when she caught up with him. She gave him a little nod to say that she'd have his back and they both checked their weapons before continuing. If the Jacobs brothers really were holing up in here, then there was a good chance this could turn into a shootout pretty quickly. They needed to be prepared.

Morgan moved first. He placed his foot gingerly on the left side of the second step up and sighed in relief when nothing happened. The steps looked downright dangerous even without any booby traps. Some of them looked like they'd been smashed deliberately, as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to them, and intentionally left big gaping holes. Damage like that did not happen through wear and tear. The purpose was obviously to keep people away.

When they made it to the porch outside, they could see how dirty and unkempt the whole place was. The paint was peeling off the walls, and where it wasn't peeling it was cracked and bubbling. There was writing everywhere, warning people to ' _go away'_ and warning what would happen to _'government spies'_ if they set foot inside.

As they readied themselves at the door, Morgan noticed an unmistakable smell emanating from the house. He grimaced at Prentiss when he saw that she'd caught it too. Something was dead inside this house! He just hoped it wasn't the little girl they were looking for! They'd all hoped so much that they'd got to this one in time. This poor girl brought the death count to 11.

"Hotch?" asked Morgan, speaking into his microphone, "Everyone in position?"

"In position" confirmed Hotch, and each of the others checked in too.

"Okay, go!" said Morgan, as he pulled back and gave the door one hard kick. It flew open with a loud bang and the back door banged open too with the sound of smashing glass. "FBI!" they shouted, "FBI, we're comin' in!"

* * *

"Clear!" shouted Prentiss, as she checked the back bedroom.

"Bathroom's clear!" shouted Rossi, "I'm gonna take a walk and look around outside..." He went back out through the kitchen frowning at Morgan as he went. He was clearly disappointed. They'd all hoped to find the girl. Time was running out.

Morgan pulled his phone out and stepped outside to call Garcia and give her the bad news. This wasn't the property they'd been looking for. They still didn't know where the kidnapped girl was. He also wanted her to inform local law enforcement that they'd be needing a CSI team to recover the body.

"There's no-one here" said Prentiss, returning to the living-room and grimacing at the sight of the decomposing corpse on the floor. She covered her mouth as she knelt down beside it to have a closer look. The body had obviously been there for some time, although the Las Vegas heat had probably sped up the decomposition somewhat. The smell was overpowering.

"No sign of a fight" said Hotch, scanning the area around the dead woman, "I can't see any wounds…" He used a pen to move the neck of her filthy blouse. She was very dirty. It looked like she hadn't changed her clothes for months before her death, perhaps even years. "No strangulation…" he commented, "No sign of any bruising…"

"There's no blood" agreed Prentiss, as she stared at the body, scanning it for possible stab marks. There were none. "This could be natural causes?" she suggested.

Hotch furrowed his brow. "Looks about forty years old… Heart attack maybe?"

"Don't speak too soon" said Prentiss, using gloved hands to move the sleeve on one of the woman's wrists. "I think… I think these are ligature marks?" she said, revealing dark black rings marking the flesh, "She's been tied up…"

"I'd say that rules out natural causes" said Hotch, as he peered around the gloomy living-room. If you could call it that.

There was no furniture, other than a single stained canvas deck chair, and an overturned cardboard box with dirty plates and cups on it. The room was full of congealing and rotting food, crumpled food containers, flies, and a huge line of 2 litre bottles full of a suspicious yellowy brown liquid. There was a mountain of garbage bags piled up in one corner of the room too, reaching almost to the ceiling. Everything had an air of decay about it. Everything felt dusty and grimy.

' _This house gives me the willies'_ thought Rossi, as he exited the bathroom. No matter how long he'd been doing this job, he was still surprised at the depravity of some of the people they dealt with _. 'How could someone live like this?!_ He stopped at a selection of photo frames on the wall and shuddered a little. There were photos of what had once been a seemingly happy family, but it obviously wasn't so happy anymore. He couldn't see the faces.

"All the eyes have been scratched out" he noted loudly enough for the rest of the team to hear, "Looks like someone took a knife to these photos... Someone has an anger issue..."

"Or a score to settle" said Hotch, "Maybe jealous of someone having a family... something they don't have?"

"I think it's more about the eyes following them... watching..." said Rossi, returning to the living-room, and looking down at the body, "There's a TV in the bedroom but the screen's covered in cardboard. Whoever lived here, they had a real problem with people looking at them…"

"Or looking at themselves?" Prentiss put in. "All the mirrors are taped over too... or smashed."

"It would explain all the windows" agreed Hotch, "Any reflective surface… Paranoid delusions…"

"Local PD are 10 minutes out" interrupted Morgan, as he walked back in and slipped his phone into his pocket, "There's been an RTC on Franklin Avenue… and Garcia says JJ's dealing with the family. Someone leaked it to the media that we were searching this house."

"Great" grumbled Hotch, "That's just what we need... A media circus..." He climbed back to his feet and started going through a pile of mail over by the door. There were hundreds of unopened unpaid bills.

Morgan ventured into the kitchen and glanced curiously at an old and discoloured child's drawing taped to the refrigerator. It showed a child holding hands with a man and a woman. The typical child's depiction of a family with a happy smiling sun overhead. It seemed thoroughly out of place in a house as sad and run down as this. He glanced back at the body of the woman on the floor and wondered dully if she might have had her child taken from her by social services. Wherever the kid was, they weren't here.

As he manoeuvred past mountains of rotting garbage he noticed a toaster that had been taped over and written on. ' _You think I can't see you watching?!_ ' it said in red ink. He shook his head as he lifted it with gloved hands and carried it to the doorway. "Hey guys, have you seen this?" he asked, "Do you think they might have cameras on us?"

"We'll get tech to do a sweep" said Hotch, "But I think it's more likely whoever lived here thought they were being watched…"

"Yeah, there's all the stuff about 'Government spies'?" said Prentiss, eyeing the torn out light switches and exposed wires in all the walls. She looked down at the body on the floor again. "They must have thought they were under surveillance…"

"Who's to say they weren't?" mumbled Rossi, as he began to walk around the living-room, trailing his fingers over the piles of well-worn books stacked in one corner. They covered subjects as diverse as texts on biochemistry and string theory, to Proust and Chaucer, to ancient looking books on French Renaissance paintings. Whoever lived here was obviously a scholar. It was also the only vaguely liveable area of the room, with a pile of blankets forming a cosy little nest for someone to sit on.

' _There's a fine line between genius and madness'_ he thought to himself sadly. Was it this woman who had lived here in all this squalor? Was _she_ the genius? Or had someone else brought her here and then killed her? That was the question.

Morgan walked over to a trunk that was sitting on the floor. It looked a little out of place given the filth and lack of furniture in the room. It was an old leather bound trunk. The type you get with metal rivets all around the edges. Old style, like something Harry Potter would have his things shipped to Hogwarts in. _'Oh man, I am spending way too much time around Garcia!'_ thought Morgan, when he found himself making the comparison.

He glanced at Hotch, for the go ahead, before tentatively flicking the latch open and then cautiously opening the lid. Part of him expected a bomb to go off but he breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened. What he hadn't expected was to see the chest filled with bricks.

He stared at it for a moment, wondering why on earth someone would fill a chest with bricks, when it suddenly dawned on him. It was so it couldn't be moved! He looked at the floor and saw that it was sitting on a raggedy old rug. He crouched down and moved the rug away, as much as he could, revealing the edges of what looked like a hinged trapdoor.

"Hey Rossi!" he shouted as he tried to move the chest, "Gimme a hand here! I think there's a trapdoor!"

Rossi wasted no time in helping, but even with two of them heaving, they couldn't move the trunk out of the way. Morgan dropped to his knees and began to lift the bricks out of the chest as fast as he could, and Rossi joined him.

"How did we miss that there's a basement?!" growled Hotch, as he dropped down beside them to help.

"There was nothing on the plans" said Morgan.

"And there aren't any windows on the outside" answered Rossi, as he continued to move bricks, "You'd never know there was anything down there…"

Suddenly JJ was helping too. Within moments they'd managed to empty the chest and slide the heavy wooden chest off the small wooden door. It was bolted, but luckily there was no lock. Morgan slid it back quietly.

Hotch pulled his gun out and nodded for everyone else to follow suit. Once everyone was ready, Rossi and Morgan hauled the wooden door up, revealing a set of wooden stairs that led down into a cramped basement. Although, it wasn't really a basement. It was more like someone had dug a hole in the ground under the house. Like a massive over-sized grave.

"FBI!" shouted Morgan, as he led the way down the stairs.

All was silent. There was no sign of the Jacob brothers. No crying kidnapped child. Nothing. Just the blue light of their flashlights sweeping across the room. It was basically empty, with only cardboard boxes piled in one corner, and a filthy single mattress in the other. On the mattress was a large pile of filthy rags, all greys and browns, like someone had torn a couple of sacks into shreds and balled it up. Maybe it was bedding of some sort? Maybe the woman upstairs had slept here?

' _Someone obviously has been sleeping here…_ ' thought Hotch, _'and going to the toilet too!'_ There was a very strong smell of human waste. So strong in fact that they began to cough.

"I don't get it" said Morgan, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he slowly moved towards the far side of the room, "If there's nothing here, why go to so much effort to stop someone coming down here? Why hide it?!" He trailed the light from his torch along the wall and frowned at the chain there that was attached to a thick metal pipe. It was looped around it and padlocked. He began to follow the chain across the floor towards the mattress…

"Maybe we're just too late" said Hotch, as he shook his head and opened the largest cardboard box in sight. It was empty. He kicked the other two boxes sending them flying across the room. "Dammit!" he snarled, "Where is she?!"

Morgan jumped when he heard a whimper by his feet. The sound was like a scared puppy. He found himself staring at the heap of rags on top of the mattress; it was larger than he'd first thought and he was nearly sure it had moved. Was it shaking?! He'd dropped his flashlight and was a little too nervous to bend down and pick it up. He glanced at the others before gently nudging the bundle of rags with his toe.

"Fuck!" cried Morgan, when it jumped up and scuttled back against the wall. There was a clank of heavy chain too. What the hell was it?!

"Oh, my God!" gasped Rossi, as he squinted into the gloom, "Is it… is it a dog?!"

Morgan cocked his head to one side and after a moment he knelt down beside the bundle of rags. It was shaking violently in front of him. "Hey… shh… shh… easy…" he coaxed, reaching out to it slowly like he would with Clooney, "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt you…" When it flinched back from him, he got a closer look, and saw a pale white hand swiping frantically back and forth in a protective motion. This was not a dog!

"Oh Jesus!" he groaned, as he turned to look at the other two, his eyes wide in shock, "It's a little kid!"

Hotch began to approach, a look of concern on his face. His eyes darted to a pile of excrement in the corner near the pipe. There was months and months' worth of filth gathered there. This child had been kept here long term and forced to live in their own waste. This obviously wasn't the child they were looking for. This wasn't Adrianna Hernandez. But who would do such a terrible thing?! Who would keep a child in conditions like this?!

Morgan gazed back at the small form in front of him. All he could really see was long tangled hair, skinny legs, and a slender feminine neck. "It's… I… I think it's a little girl?!" he said.

"Oh God!" groaned Hotch. The thought of any child being kept down here made his chest constrict painfully. What if someone did this to Jack?!

"Hey sweetheart" cooed Morgan, as he reached out a hand to try to see the child's face, "I just want to have a look at you…" He kept his voice as soft and soothing as he could. "I'm not gonna hurt you, baby…"

The child screamed and pulled away as soon as Morgan's hand made contact. It was more like the cry of a wounded animal than a human being. She was beyond terrified!

"Hey, hey, hey… shhh shhh shhh, easy, easy!" he soothed, holding his hands up in a conciliatory way, "I'm a policeman… I'm a policeman, sweetie, I'm here to help you… We're all here to help you…"

His words didn't seem to help. A curtain of greasy brown hair hid the child's face and a man's tattered brown cardigan hid the small body that was curled up tight against the wall. Even so, Morgan could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to breathe. When Morgan reached out again, shushing and murmuring comforting words of encouragement, all the child did was whimper pitifully. He managed to get hold of her chin and gently tipped her face up towards his.

"Oh sweetheart!" he said, with a sharp intake of breath. She was deathly pale, like a little ghost, and she had a dirty bandage wrapped around her eyes that was secured with duct tape. It was clearly soaked in old dried blood. The child was blind!

* * *

 **AN: So? Yes? No? Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Thank you so much to Ash59, Dextolan, rmpcmfan, Cherubim, Rocco23, and Pembie for taking the time to review! You lovely lovely people have no idea how much your feedback means to me! To everyone else reading and following, it would be really nice if you could let me know what you think. Even just a couple of words?

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _Morgan took a sharp intake of breath when he saw the child's face for the first time. She was deathly pale, like a little ghost, and she had a dirty bandage wrapped around her eyes that was secured with duct tape. It was clearly soaked in old hardened blood. The child was blind!_

* * *

"Nrrrrrhhhhh!" growled the child, wriggling frantically in his grasp, "Urrrrrhhhhhhh!" She was really thrashing around and he was worried that she was going to hurt herself.

"Oh God" sighed Morgan, as he watched her for a moment. He couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be blind and have total strangers pawing at you. How was he supposed to make her trust him? She couldn't see that he meant well. She couldn't see the letters 'FBI' emblazoned on his bulletproof vest. She had no way of knowing that he wasn't some scary man who'd come to hurt her. What was he supposed to do?!

He glanced at Rossi and Hotch with a _'what do I do?'_ expression but they just nodded for him to keep trying. Neither of them seemed to have a better idea and they somehow sensed that crowding her wouldn't turn out well. Where was JJ when you needed her?!

He turned back to the little girl and reached out again, this time ignoring the little hands that batted at him as he took hold of her shoulders. "Shhh shhh sweetheart, I'm not gonna hurt you" he coaxed, "Please… I'm not… My name's Derek… Listen to me, listen… listen to my voice, okay? I'm not going to hurt you… Listen… I'm a policeman, I'm one of the good guys…"

She slumped in his grasp and turned her face away, no longer struggling, but not co-operating either. She was obviously too tired to keep fighting. He wondered how long she'd been down here without any food or water.

"Sweetie, listen…" he said again, cupping the side of her face, "My name's Derek… and we're here to help you… To help you get out of here so you can be safe and warm… and…"

The child turned her head towards him then with a furrowed brow, as though she was trying to figure out whether she could trust him or not. She lifted her hand towards his face and then flinched back again as though she expected to be told off. As though she was used to being hit.

"No, no, it's okay" said Morgan, lifting her hand to his cheek. He gave a nervous little laugh when she began to tentatively feel his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone and his nose. He closed his eyes and allowed her to move her fingertips over his eyes and then his lips. When he opened his eyes, he could see that she'd calmed down a little. She seemed intent on feeling the stubble on his chin as though she was mapping his face and creating a mental image.

"See?" he chuckled, "I'm not so scary… Am I?" He took her little hand again and held it over his mouth. He smiled and let her trace the lines of his lips. "See, Baby Girl, I'm smiling…" he said.

With that, the child frowned, knitting her brows together, and drawing her hand away. She shook her head and pointed at herself, at her own chest, and then back at Morgan.

"I… I don't understand" said Morgan.

The child pointed at him again and then brought both index fingers together side by side in a strange sort of gesture that he couldn't decipher. Then the child pointed at her own groin.

"I'm sorry, baby…" he said, grimacing a little at the implications of that gesture, "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me… Can't you… Can't you talk?"

The girl pursed her lips together and shook her head. She seemed disappointed… With a little sigh of resignation, she began to draw the hem of her ragged cardigan up. It looked like she was going to get undressed.

"Hey… no, that's okay, honey!" he soothed, grabbing her hand and pulling the cardigan down again, "You don't have to do that…" He shuddered to think what she might have been through. What she thought she had to do. Did she think he wanted _that_ from her _?_!

The child shook her head again, and pulled her hand away, face reddening a little in frustration. She began wildly gesticulating again, and making little grunts, but he had no idea what she was trying to tell him.

"Uh… Morgan?" interrupted Hotch, and the child yelped and scuttled back again, startled by the new man being so close. "We need to get her out of here…" he said, "We need to get that chain off her too…"

Morgan looked down at the child's foot, sticking out from under the large brown cardigan she was wrapped in. He almost growled when he saw the manacle around the soft little ankle. It was far too tight and had rubbed a nasty raw section into the flesh. The poor little thing was going to have permanent scarring.

"Find something to take it off" he gritted out, "Find some bolt cutters, or the key or something..."

"I'll look upstairs" said Rossi, heading for the stairs…

Just then, local law enforcement crashed through the front door and they heard Prentiss explaining the situation. She'd stayed upstairs to wait for them and to keep the crime scene secure. Suddenly torchlight flooded the stairwell and one of the officers yelled down to them, "Agents, you okay down there?!"

"SSA Rossi here…" he shouted, as he climbed halfway up and flashed his credentials at the officers above, "Place is clear, but we need a bus and some bolt cutters… we got an injured child!"

One of the men above immediately got on the radio and ordered an ambulance.

"Some water and some blankets too!" added Hotch.

Uniformed police began to flood the house, and a number of them came downstairs to speak to the team. Hotch went upstairs to speak to CSI and call Garcia to see if they could get any details on a child living at the address. Or to identify the body. A uniformed officer appeared with a pile of blankets, some bottles of water, and a set of bolt cutters and trotted down the stairs. He glanced curiously at Morgan on reaching the basement when he saw him sitting on the mattress with a small brown bundle by his side.

"Thanks" said Rossi, taking the requested items from the officer, "Let us know when the paramedics get here." The man nodded and disappeared back up the stairs.

"Morgan… water" prompted Rossi, tapping him on the shoulder and handing him one of the bottles, "She's probably dehydrated. I don't see any food or water down here."

Morgan took the bottle and turned back to the small child. "Baby girl" he said, coaxing the child to move towards him a little, "You thirsty… You want some water?" He was speaking in soft soothing tones like he would with Hank.

The child began nodding her head and frantically sweeping her hand around to try to find the water that was being offered. She was obviously desperately thirsty, her lips chapped and painful looking.

"Here" said Morgan, taking hold of her little hand and guiding it to the bottle.

The child wrapped her hand around the bottle but frowned when she felt around the top of it. She didn't seem to know what to do with it.

"Here honey, let me show you" said Morgan, as he helped her guide the bottle to her mouth. "Just let me pour some in, okay? Open your mouth." She did, and he tipped a small amount in. She swallowed cautiously at first, as though frightened that it might hurt or burn, but then suddenly she began to chug at the bottle, gulping the water down like she hadn't drunk in days. He figured she probably hadn't.

"Hey, hey, slow down" said Morgan, pulling the bottle away a little.

The child flinched, yanking her hand back, and cowering like she expected to be hit.

"No, no, sweetie" he coaxed, guiding her hand back to the bottle, "Just... go slow. If you drink too fast, you'll make yourself sick."

The child nodded and cautiously pulled the bottle back towards her, frowning with concentration as she drank more slowly this time. She was clearly on edge.

"Good?" asked Morgan, when she'd drunk the last drop. "You feel better sweetie?"

The child nodded and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips, but she flinched violently and dropped the bottle when she felt someone touch her ankle.

"Hey, sorry, it's okay, it's okay!" Morgan assured her, "I just want to get this thing off you… okay? I'm gonna get this thing off you and then we can get you out of here… You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The child stilled, tilting her head at him as though she wasn't entirely sure he was real, but allowed him to pull her foot into his lap. He couldn't help noticing the mismatched socks on her feet. Even though they were filthy, and possibly years old, he could still vaguely make out the colours. One was blue with little red airplanes, and the other had once been yellow with grey stripes. They seemed odd colour choices for such a pretty little girl.

He managed to cut through the padlock on the manacle on her ankle and gently opened the cuff. The child gave an audible gasp when she felt it being removed, and drew her knee up to her chest, so she could put her hands around her ankle. She hissed when she felt how raw the skin was underneath.

Just then, the paramedics arrived and came bustling down the stairs making a lot of noise. "We were told there's an injured child down here, a little girl?" one called out.

"Yeah, over here!" said Morgan, beckoning them over, "Found her chained up down here. Think she's been kept down here for a least a few months. There's something wrong with her eyes."

"Okay, let's take a look" said one of the paramedics as he dropped to one knee beside the mattress. He set a bag down and donned some latex gloves.

"Okay, baby" said Morgan, "There's some nice people here who want to…"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. Suddenly the child had catapulted herself forward and was scrambling blindly on top of him. "Wow, wow, wow!" he exclaimed, thinking at first that she was trying to escape, but quickly realising that she was trying to climb into his lap. "Oh… uh… okay?" he stammered, looking up at the paramedic in amazement when he found skinny little arms gripping tightly around him and her head buried in his chest. That was when he realised that she was crying. Her body was shuddering against him.

"Come on, just… shhhh…." he soothed, gently stroking the child's filthy matted hair. The kid smelt really bad, like she hadn't been washed in years, and he realised that she wasn't wearing any clothes under the raggedy cardigan draped around her. Her skin was hot to the touch like she had a fever and it was absolutely filthy too. "I won't let them do anything bad" he assured her, "All they want to do is take a look at you and help you feel better."

She just whimpered at that and shook her head against his chest. She was terrified.

"Hey, honey, my name's Eddie…" said the paramedic, placing a gentle hand on her back, "You wanna tell me what your name is? I bet you have a pretty name?" When he didn't get an answer, he tried a different tack. "You know, I have a daughter about your age" he said, using a soft and soothing sort of voice, "Her name's Katie… She has nice brown hair like yours… I bet she'd like to meet you… Come on, why don't you tell me what your name is so I can tell Katie what a brave young girl I met today?" When he got no response again, he frowned at Morgan and mouthed the word ' _deaf_?'

Morgan shook his head. "I don't think she can talk" he whispered quietly to the paramedic, "At least she doesn't seem to be able to. I asked her if she can and she shook her head. She can understand what you're saying though."

"Okay…" said Eddie, starting to gently pull at the child's arms, "Can you get her to let go so we can assess her? I just want to make sure nothing's bleeding."

"Mhhhhhmmmm!" cried the girl, jerking her arm away from him and hiding her face almost under Morgan's armpit. She was trying desperately to use his body as a defence. Trying to get him to shield her.

"Hey, hey, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you" promised Morgan, "…but you have to let go for a minute so these nice men can take a look, okay? I'll stay with you the whole time…" She just shook her head and tightened her grip. He looked up at Rossi in a ' _what the hell do I do now?!_ ' kind of way.

"What about if Agent Morgan carries her out to the ambulance?" suggested Rossi, speaking to the paramedics directly, "She doesn't seem to have any critical injuries… and if you need to, you can give her something to calm her down once you get there?"

The paramedic beside Morgan looked up at his partner and gave a little shrug. "Seems as good a plan as any" his partner said, "No point in distressing the girl if we don't have to."

Morgan put one arm around the child's back, while he used his other arm to hoist her gangly little legs up and turn her a little so he was carrying her bridal style. Eddie the paramedic draped the blanket around them to make sure the child would be covered. He stroked the child's hair back a little to have a closer look at her face. The child flinched and pressed her face in harder against Morgan's chest, but even with the dirty bandage obscuring her eyes, it was clear that she was a fragile little thing. Very malnourished.

"Okay, sweetie" said Morgan, resting his chin on top of her head, "I'm gonna carry you upstairs now…" When the child didn't seem to protest, he took a deep breath and stood up. All he felt was the little arms around him tighten their hold. The child was clearly petrified. "Here we go" he said, starting towards the stairs, "I'm gonna stay with you the whole way, you just hold on tight… don't be scared."

When they got outside he had to very carefully pick his way down the steps and out the front of the house towards the ambulance. He climbed up and sat the two of them down on the gurney inside. "You did so well" he said to the child in his arms, "I'm so proud of you."

All she did was whimper in response, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going through her head. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment. The noise outside was overwhelming, not only because she couldn't see, but because she'd spent months in isolation in a cold damp basement. Now there were all sorts of alien sounds! Choppers flying overhead, sirens blaring, cops shouting to each other as they cleared the house… How was she meant to cope with any of this?!

"You wanna lie her back on the gurney?" asked Eddie as he climbed in the back with them, "I need to get an IV started, and check her for injuries…" He tried to take her little arm but she jerked away from him again with a high pitched whimper. "Maybe if you could…?"

"I'll try" said Morgan, sounding a little doubtful but beginning to move the child out of his arms. "Hey sweetheart, I just wanna get you to lie down here…" he began, but she just gripped him tighter, digging her fingernails in, and wailing loudly. "Okay, okay" he soothed, pulling her back into his arms. "I uh… I don't think this is going to work…" he said to the paramedic, "I think you're gonna need to give her something."

The paramedic nodded and prepared a syringe. He nodded to Morgan once he was ready, and gently pulled the blanket away to reveal the child's severely bruised leg.

"Shhh" soothed Morgan, as he watched the needle puncture the child's skin and felt her give a startled jump, "Shhh… it's okay." She whimpered slightly but within moments she'd gone limp in his arms.

"Okay, set her down" said Eddie, "I'll get her set up with an IV and then we can get a look at her… Probably better she's sedated for the tests at the hospital anyway… They can be pretty… _intrusive_."

Morgan nodded at him. He knew only too well what the tests would entail and he was grateful that she'd be able to sleep through them. He set her down on the gurney, untangling her limp little arms from around him, and stroking her matted hair behind her ears. "You're gonna be okay" he whispered to her softly, "You're gonna be okay now."

"Okay" said Eddie, "That's the IV… Let's take a look…" He pulled the blanket off the child's frail body and grimaced a little at the dirty brown cardigan wrapped around her. It was an adult's cardigan that drowned her completely, and it also stank to high heaven. He made short work of removing it, revealing a painfully thin little body underneath, all visible ribs, and pelvic bones jutting out like knives. The skin was littered with bruises and scars, some old and some new, but there was something else that they hadn't been expecting.

The child wasn't a girl.

"The fuck?!" exclaimed Morgan, as he peered down at the exposed child. Lying on the gurney was a bruised and battered little boy. A _boy_! Suddenly the hand gestures made a lot more sense. The poor kid had been trying to tell him! Trying to _show_ him that he wasn't a girl! He felt a bit of an idiot now. He hoped he hadn't hurt the kid's feelings.

"Well… that's a surprise" said Eddie, "Little Jane Doe here, is really a John, huh?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you to Ahowell1993, tannerose5, fishtrek, Rocco23, Pembie, AZCatmom, and spxxxxx for reviewing! I really appreciate the support!**

 **Not so sure about this chapter, but hey ho...**

 **Trigger Warning:** **Medical details imply severe child abuse and this may be very upsetting for some readers.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _"Well… that's a surprise" said Eddie, "Little Jane Doe here, is really a John, huh?_

* * *

Morgan sat staring at a set of double swing doors, with his knee jiggling up and down, and an empty Styrofoam coffee cup picked to pieces in one hand. He'd been thrown out of the emergency room on arrival and told to wait outside. Being an agent of the FBI hadn't even helped. An extremely bossy ER doctor had refused to let him stay because he wasn't a relative and had even threatened to call security if he didn't leave. In the end, he'd conceded defeat and come to the waiting room to make a few phone calls.

The rest of the team had gone back to the station. The searches of the other two properties had proved fruitless, but Garcia had managed to locate a 4th property, and the Jacobs had finally been arrested. Rossi and Prentiss were conducting the interrogations. Unfortunately, they hadn't managed to locate the missing girl and neither of the Jacobs brothers were talking. Given the fact that she'd been missing for over 20 hours at this stage, and there was a significant amount of blood at the scene, it wasn't looking good. She was probably already dead.

Morgan shook his head at the thought. He couldn't help wondering why the world had to be so cruel?! What kind of hell were they living in? A place where innocent little girls got kidnapped and murdered? Where little boys wound up blinded and chained up in basements?! Where things like this happened every day? What kind of world was his own precious little boy going to grow up in?! What was he going to tell him when he was old enough to understand?

He turned when he heard the elevator doors open and someone call out his name.

"Morgan?" said Hotch, as he made his way over to him, "Is the girl okay? Have they said what kind of injuries she has?"

Morgan gave a little grimace. "Well, that's the thing" he said, rubbing his hand over his shaved head, "Turns out it's not a girl… I just… Well, I guess I jumped to conclusions… the long hair…"

"It's a boy?" asked Hotch.

"Yeah" he nodded, "They think he's about 6 or 7… but he's small for his age, probably because he's so malnourished… Probably didn't get to move much either."

"Poor kid" sighed Hotch, as he sat down on the seat beside Morgan. He took his phone out. "Have you let Garcia know to look for a boy that age?" he asked.

"Yeah, when I first got here" he replied, "She's been keeping me in the loop… Checkin' in every half hour… Said she'd call back as soon as she has anything on the kid…"

"Good" said Hotch, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He'd been too preoccupied with their original case to follow up on the boy they'd found. But he was here now. He ran his hand through his hair and then straightened his tie.

"Do they have a COD yet?" asked Morgan, "The woman we found? The kid's mom, I guess…"

"No, I'm still waiting for the coroner to call" said Hotch, "We're not even sure that she's his mother, but we've taken blood samples… They're running the DNA."

"Did the Jacobs do this too?" asked Morgan, "I mean… are we looking at another victim?"

"I don't think so" answered Hotch, "Not their MO… Too clean, no violence… No blood."

"Yeah… I guess" sighed Morgan, "But don't you think it's too much of a coincidence? We just happen to stumble on a property with a dead body, and some little kid chained in a basement?! I mean, God, we would never have found him if we hadn't been looking for Adrianna!" He drove his fist into the wall beside him and let out a growl of frustration. "Fuck, Hotch, he could have died down there!"

"I know" said the older agent, "But he didn't… We got him out of there… We can be thankful for that."

"Yeah but who knows how long he was down there…" said Morgan, speaking through gritted teeth, "In that hellhole… Like a fucking grave… I mean, we could hardly breathe down there, Hotch! How could he?! How did he live down there like that?! Chained up and… Jesus… blind too… For fuck's sake…!" He shook his head in despair. "I swear" he growled out, "…if I could get my hands on whoever did this…!"

"I know" sighed Hotch. He was angry too.

He couldn't help thinking of Jack when he was that age. A child of six or seven has so much energy that it's difficult for them to sit still. This poor child had spent God knows how many months on a chain that was only about 10 feet long. Maybe even years?! And in total isolation! He wouldn't be surprised if the poor thing had gone insane. And that was before he even considered the abuse that he'd suffered... and he _really_ didn't want to think about that...

"Christ!" huffed Morgan, "Do you think you ever get used to this shit? People hurting kids like this?"

Hotch breathed out heavily and shook his head, his own fathers face flashing through his mind momentarily. "The day you do" he replied, "Is the day you need to step away from this job… If it doesn't get to you… then there's something wrong."

"Yeah, I know" said Morgan, as he rubbed his face in both hands. He felt emotionally drained. "I know."

"Did they tell you anything at all?" asked Hotch, glancing at the doors to the ER.

"Not really" he shrugged, "They kicked me out pretty much as soon as we got here. But I saw the bruises and scars, all over... Kid's been brutalised… and for a long time… They're gonna do a rape kit… Y'know, the usual… take some x-rays."

Hotch nodded. It was standard procedure in cases like this.

"He's sedated at least" said Morgan, leaning back and rubbing his tired eyes.

"Probably best" nodded Hotch.

They both knew how much of an ordeal a rape examination was and knew that the traumatised child they'd met in that basement would never have coped. Sedating him was clearly the best course of action.

* * *

 **2 hours later…**

"I want to be there when he wakes up…" said Morgan, breaking the silence and glancing anxiously at the double doors again, "I want him to hear a friendly voice… To know he's not alone."

He didn't know why this kid had gotten to him so much. Of all the horrible cases they'd dealt with over the years, even the ones involving children, this one really seemed to be getting under his skin. Maybe it was because the child had really latched onto him? Looking to him for protection. Those little arms around him, clinging to him like his life depended on it… He'd felt so needed. He'd wanted more than anything in the world to keep him safe and make sure that no-one could ever hurt him again. But why? Why did he care so much? Maybe it was because the poor kid was blind and that made him so much more vulnerable?

"Morgan, you can't…" Hotch began to say. He recognised the signs all too well. It was hard not to get attached to one or two of the victims. They'd all done it at some stage over the years… but it never ended well. He wanted to save the man some heartache if he could.

"I know, I know" groaned Morgan, "I can't get too attached… I'm not, man… I just… I just want to make sure he's gonna be okay, Hotch… I owe him that."

Hotch nodded his head in a way that said he didn't believe him. "Okay" he sighed, "but just… just be careful Morgan… This child has been through a lot and… you can't let him get too attached either. It wouldn't be fair."

"I won't" promised Morgan.

"I mean it" warned Hotch, "We'll be leaving in a few days and you can't take him with you. I'm sure CPS will take good care of him."

"Hmmm" answered Morgan, sounding unconvinced.

"Morgan…" Hotch began to scold, but they were interrupted by the doors swinging open and a young-looking doctor walking straight towards them. She looked tired and overworked, and more than a little stressed.

"Agent Morgan?" she said with a strained sort of smile, as she approached in rumpled blue scrubs.

Morgan and Hotch were on their feet in seconds and moving towards her. "How is he?" asked Morgan, "Is he okay? Can I see him?"

The doctor glanced from Morgan to Hotch with a look that said ' _And you are?'_

"SSA Aaron Hotchner" said Hotch, extending a hand to the doctor, "I was with Agent Morgan when the child was found…"

"Dr Robbins" she said, shaking his hand, "We've just finished the examination and he's been moved to a recovery room… Has anyone managed to identify him? ...At the moment, he's just registered under 'John Doe'."

"We're still trying" said Hotch, "Our searches haven't turned anything up just yet… But Agent Morgan said you think he's seven years old?"

"It's hard to determine" she answered truthfully, "From his x-rays I'd say he's around six years old, but his teeth place him a little older. I don't think he'd be more than nine. We'd really like to get hold of his medical records…"

"Okay" nodded Hotch, "I'll let our people know to look for that age range… but he may never have been registered… Whoever was keeping him seemed to have a deep distrust of the authorities. It's possible the boy may never have even seen a doctor before."

Dr Robbins gave a grim little nod. She'd seen a couple of cases like that before where children had basically been kept 'off the grid'. They'd mainly involved religious nuts or anti-vaxxers though. This was a whole new level of cruelty and neglect.

"Can you tell us anything about his medical condition?" asked Hotch.

"Yes..." she said, blowing out a big breath, "But maybe its best if we sit down... Okay?" Once they'd taken their seats, she pulled a plastic chair up to sit in front of them and set her clipboard on her knees. "So, I guess I'll start with the good news" she said, "The uh… the rape kit came back negative. There's no sign of sexual assault, past or present."

"Oh, thank god!" gasped Morgan, covering his mouth with his hand. He felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "You're sure?" he felt the need to ask.

"As sure as we can be" she said, with a tight little smile, "We couldn't see anything that would point to that."

He blew out a big breath and nodded to himself. He'd been preparing himself for the worst.

"You're not the only one that's relieved!" she said with a smile, "Given where he was found, we thought it quite likely."

"But… uh… you said that was the good news?" Morgan asked after a moment, newfound worry on his face, "What's the bad news?"

"I'm not sure where to start" she sighed, "He's obviously extremely malnourished. He's dangerously underweight - about 15lbs under where he should be, assuming he's 6-years-old. Given where he was being kept, he's exceptionally lucky not to have developed rickets. That being said, his muscles are extremely underdeveloped and I don't think he can walk. It looks like he's been crawling… He has bursitis, quite severe, in both knees. It's a sort of swelling in the joint, they used to call it 'housemaid's knee'. We're giving him some anti-inflammatories which should help… But he's going to need extensive physiotherapy to build up his muscle strength and get him up on his feet."

"But he will be able to?" asked Hotch.

"It won't be easy, but he's young" she said, "I'm hopeful".

"What about his eyes?" asked Morgan, "Did they… did they take his eyes out?"

He'd been worrying about that ever since he'd seen those bloody bandages, but he almost too scared to ask. What kind of monsters could have done that to such a gentle little child?!

"Well, there's good news and bad news on that front too" she said, with a heavy sigh, "Thankfully he does still have both eyes, but there's been trauma to the optic nerve at the back of each eye." She pointed at the corner of her eye to explain. "Someone stuck something sharp in here" she said, "At an angle… Possibly a pair of long scissors… They damaged the optic nerve."

"A doctor?" asked Hotch.

"No" she said with a sad shake of the head, "I don't think so. They did a messy job, left a lot of scarring. A doctor would have made a clean cut."

"Can it be fixed?" asked Morgan.

"I'm afraid not" she answered sadly, "It is permanent... Although we won't know the true extent of the damage until he's awake."

"So he might be able to see?" he asked hopefully.

"I think it's unlikely" she answered, "But I'm not an ophthalmologist..." She gave a little shrug. "Maybe?"

"But... you... you think someone held him down and… and did this to him?!" he demanded, stammering a little as a rage grew inside him.

"We can't know that" she answered, "Although for what it's worth, I think he would have struggled too much for them to be able to do that… He may have been unconscious…"

"God, I hope so!" he groaned.

"Join the club" said the doctor, "I hope you're gonna find the bastard that did this…"

"We will" Hotch promised her, "I can assure you of that."

"Would he have been in a lot of pain?" asked Morgan, "I mean, after? When he woke up… not able to see?"

"Yes" she grimaced, "I think it would have been very painful... He may even still have some pain related to it... It _is_ nerve damage."

"Fuck" groaned Morgan, "…This poor kid!"

"We've re-bandaged his eyes for now" she said, "...until we can have a ophthalmic specialist come in and take a look. Just in case he does have some limited vision, I don't want to overwhelm him with the lights here in the hospital. We'll need to take things slowly... His other injuries are relatively minor... Bruising, some small lacerations… ulceration and scarring to his ankle where the manacle was too tight… We've done what we can for that. He might need some plastic surgery when he's older… He had a wrist fracture about a year ago so we've given him a wrist brace for support… The physiotherapist will assess that too… From a physical point of view, it could have been much worse."

Morgan nodded. He knew it was true. They'd seen worse cases themselves over the years and he knew that he should feel relieved… but for some reason, he really didn't. The poor kid had been through absolute hell and all he wanted was to wind back the clock and make things okay for him again. He wanted him to be able to walk. He wanted him to be able to see!

"He will recover" she said, "At least physically… Emotionally? Well, that's another story. We'll have a child psychologist assess him when he's awake and stable enough… and I guess we'll go from there. CPS have been called. They'll be here too." She looked at Morgan. "You said he's non-verbal?"

"I don't know" he answered, "He… I asked him if he could talk and he shook his head, but maybe he was just too scared… Or maybe he's not used to speaking. Maybe they didn't let him? …He did seem to know some kind of sign language though."

"I see" she said. Just then, her beeper went off and she glanced down at it as she climbed to her feet. "I guess we'll find out when he wakes up".

"Uh, doctor?" said Morgan, getting to his feet as well, "Can we see him? I'd like to be there when he wakes up… Y'know, a friendly voice?"

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Do you do this… I mean, are you like this with all the victims?"

"No… It's just… the kid has no-one" he stammered, "And I… I guess"

"Yes, Agent Morgan" she answered with a smile, "You can see him! Just… no questioning him for now. I'm letting you in there for support, not to take a victim statement. Is that clear?"

"Crystal" said Morgan.

"Understood" echoed Hotch.

"Room 212, upstairs…" she said nodding towards the elevator, "He's sedated for now, but he'll be waking up soon." With that, she turned and walked back through the swing doors.

* * *

The two agents stepped cautiously inside the door, nodding at the nurse as she replaced the chart at the end of the bed and then slipped out past them.

The little boy looked pitifully small lying on the bed in the room all by himself. Just a small form, taking up less than a quarter of the space, and covered in white bed-sheets. His skinny little legs were slightly bent at the knee, forming a sort of tent in the bedlinen, as though he couldn't straighten them properly. One arm was strapped up in a beige coloured brace while the other lay limp and bruised and hooked up to IV lines. Without that big bulky cardigan, they could see how thin he really was. He looked so fragile.

"God, he's so thin, Hotch!" gasped Morgan, "Look at him, he's nothing but skin and bones…"

Hotch nodded sadly. It was true. The boy's cheeks were sunken in and his arms were like sticks. He looked like a strong wind would carry him away.

They made their way over and peered down at him. The doctors had removed the dirty bandages from his face and replaced them with clean white ones. He had an oxygen cannula in his nose and he'd been washed. His hair was cut too, probably because it was too matted to comb. He definitely looked better, but now that he was so much cleaner, he just looked so pale. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his little chest they might have been forgiven for thinking he was dead.

"Hey kid" Morgan said, reaching out and stroking the child's hair, "Hey Baby Boy… It's me, Derek… Remember me? I'm here…"

The child simply whimpered a little and pulled away from the friendly touch. Even in his unconscious state, he was terrified of physical contact.

Morgan glanced up at the name on the whiteboard above the boy's head; 'John Doe'. He felt a wave of anger crash over him. This kid didn't deserve this! Any of this! He deserved a name above his head at the very least, and worried parents at his bedside, holding his hand and making sure he was going to be alright. He deserved someone to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, and for someone to treat him with nothing but love and kindness for the rest of his life.

And, above all, he deserved justice for what was done to him!

"Hotch, man… we gotta find whoever did this!" he said, turning to look at his boss, "I'm not leaving till the son of a bitch is behind bars!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Thank you to tannerose5, Dextolan, Pembie, spxxxxx, Cherubim, and JessicaRae95 for all the support and encouragement. You have no idea how much your reviews means to me! The more feedback I get, the more incentive I have to write. Like a lot of writers on here, I feed off it, lol! So, please don't be shy! If you have any suggestions, feel free to shout them out. You'd be surprised how helpful they can be! Sometimes other people see things that I don't, and their fresh perspective can spark something that really helps to shape the story. In any case, any feedback is greatly appreciated.**

 **Not 100% happy about this chapter, but we'll see what you think...**

* * *

" _Morgan glanced up at the name on the whiteboard above the boy's head; 'John Doe'. He felt a wave of anger crash over him. This kid didn't deserve this! Any of this! He deserved a name above his head at the very least, and worried parents at his bedside, holding his hand and making sure he was going to be alright. He deserved someone to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, and for someone to treat him with nothing but love and kindness for the rest of his life._

 _And, above all, he deserved justice for what was done to him!_

 _"Hotch, man… we gotta find whoever did this!" he said, turning to look at his boss, "I'm not leaving till the son of a bitch is behind bars!"_

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Morgan gave a little start, jerking his head up for what must have been the millionth time, when he felt himself nodding off. He'd been sitting here for hours now, long enough for the chair he was sitting on to give him a numb backside… and yet, the kid still hadn't woken up. The nurses had assured him that everything was fine, but he couldn't stop his mind from supplying him with all sorts of worst case scenarios. Like what if the boy had had an adverse reaction to the sedative?! That happened, right?! Sometimes people just didn't wake up?! The nurses had rolled their eyes at him and told him to stop torturing himself. Sedatives just took a little longer to wear off for some people. _'Everyone's different'_ they'd said, ' _No big deal_ … _He'll wake up when he's ready'_. He just hoped they were right.

He straightened up, shaking himself a little, and glancing guiltily at the small body in the bed. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He'd argued with Hotch and insisted on staying by the bedside despite not having had any sleep for well over 48 hours. He was glad the man wasn't here now to tell him off or to make him leave when he didn't want to. He leaned forward and took hold of the child's small hand, giving it a little squeeze to assure himself that he hadn't missed anything. That the boy really was still asleep.

"Kid?" he said, gently stroking the child's newly cut hair behind his ear, "Come on, wake up… Don't leave me hanging here, man… You and me, we're gonna be best buds…"

The child's chest continued to rise and fall as slowly as ever before. He was clearly still out of it.

'Best Buds' he thought to himself with a wistful little smile. He wanted that. He knew in his heart that he'd never be able to just walk away and leave him. Not completely anyway… Maybe he'd check in with him from time to time and make sure he was doing okay in his new foster home? And maybe he'd be a sort of 'big brother' who stopped by every now and then, and took him out to do cool stuff? He could do that, couldn't he? No matter what Hotch said. That wouldn't be getting too attached. It would just be looking out for the kid. No harm in that. No harm in that at all…

"Okay…" he sighed, flopping back in the seat with an exasperated groan, "You take your time little man… I'll be here." He rubbed his face in both hands and then stuck his feet up on the side of the bed. "You're stuck with me now, kid... I'm not going anywhere."

Time seemed to tick past slowly and with the muggy heat of the hospital room he was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Just as he was beginning to drift off again, his phone began to ring making him jump a mile high. 'Oh right' he muttered, slipping his phone out of his pocket and climbing to his feet. He couldn't help smiling when he saw the name on the screen.

' _Garcia'._

"Whatcha got for me, Baby Girl?" he answered with a soft chuckle as he moved towards the door. His smile grew when she retorted with one of her trademark quips, just dirty enough to get her fired had she said it to anyone other than him. "Down, girl" he teased, "Don't make me spank you when I get back… You know I will…" Her reply made him snort loudly and he glanced back in concern at the bed. He didn't want to startle the kid.

The boy hadn't moved a muscle.

"So, you get an ID on the body yet?" he asked, lowering his voice, "We got a cause of death?" He turned his back to the child and leaned against the doorframe. "Diana Reid?" he repeated, with a frown, "Schizophrenic? What happened? She go off her meds?"

Unseen to him was the fact that the child's chest was now rising and falling much faster. He was lying in exactly the same position but his hands were balled into fists and his little body was shaking.

"She the kid's mother?" he asked, with a regretful tone to his voice. "God, poor kid" he sighed, when she confirmed it, "How am I gonna tell him his mom's dead… on top of all of this?!"

He was silent for a long time as he listened to Garcia's animated and emotional voice on the other end. She was obviously upset by what she'd found out, and he couldn't blame her. He was becoming more and more angry with each passing second.

According to her, the house was registered to a 'William Reid', a third-rate lawyer who spent his time ambulance-chasing, and making shoddy TV commercials about workplace injuries and traffic collision claims. Handy with his fists, and exceptionally controlling, his wife had been a 'clumsy' woman who'd ended up in hospital on countless occasions with broken bones and other unexplained injuries. A fall down the stairs here, a knock with a cupboard door there, even an 'accidental' stab wound to the stomach! …But who was counting? And who was going to step in to help the woman with mental health problems anyway? Local police reports were full of victim-shaming language that might as well have said ' _The woman's a nutjob! Someone needs to keep her in line!'_ Why didn't they just go the whole hog, and give the wife-beating bastard a pat on the back for a job well done?! Attitudes to mental health issues in the Las Vegas PD obviously left a lot to be desired!

Morgan fumed when he heard that she'd never pressed charges. Ever the victim, she'd allowed him to go on beating her, and corroborated his story at every turn. _'No, he had never hurt her', 'No, she was just clumsy'_ , ' _No, there was nothing to worry about'_ … Even if the police had wanted to help her, what could they really have done?!

The whole thing was so damn cliché that it might have been funny… if it weren't for the harsh reality of a beaten and vulnerable woman staring down the lense of a police camera. Sad and haunted eyes saying _'help me!'_ even if the woman herself couldn't. Garcia said the photos of her injuries were not for the faint of heart.

"Piece of shit!" hissed Morgan, glancing behind him and grimacing at the sight of the small boy in the bed, all covered in bruises. What he didn't see was the trembling. The utter terror overtaking the child's tiny body. All he saw was a victim.

He turned back to glare down the hospital corridor as he tried to picture the unknown man that he wanted to break into little pieces. "William Reid" he growled under his breath. _'That man is so dead!'_ he thought to himself, _'He just doesn't know it yet!'_ He was going to make it his mission in life to make the man pay

"Any records on the kid?" he asked, "We gotta name?"

That was where she'd turned up a blank. There were no records of the Reids ever having had a child. No birth cert. No record of Diana ever giving birth to a little boy. And no-one had ever taken _him_ to the hospital for injuries, unexplained or otherwise. The child simply did not exist… at least as far as the system was concerned.

"But we know he's hers?" he asked, "I mean, we're sure he's this woman's child?"

The DNA matched apparently… Diana must have had him at home. In fact, Diana's trips to the Emergency Room had mysteriously ceased about 8 years ago too. Maybe around the time the boy had been born? Had the poor kid ever even been outside that hellhole of a house?! Had William been keeping them prisoner all this time?!

"We thinking he did this?" he growled down the phone, "He's the bastard that kept him down there? The one that gave him all those bruises? Did that to his eyes?!"

Garcia whined at the thought of anyone hurting a 'sweet little baby boy' like that and warned Morgan that she might just have to fly to Vegas to 'hug the crap' out of the kid the first chance she got. He wouldn't put it past her.

They'd put an APB out for William Reid to bring him in for questioning. No sign of him yet though.

"Do we have the coroner's report yet?" he asked, wondering what had finally tipped the man over the edge. When had the sadistic bastard escalated from keeping his family prisoner to actually killing his wife? Had Diana finally stood up to him? Had she refused to take it anymore?

"Did this fucker kill the kid's mom?!" he demanded, in a voice that was just that little bit too loud.

He was startled by a high-pitched yelp and a clatter of metal crashing across the floor. Spinning around, he gasped when he saw the boy dragging himself, flailing his hands frantically in front of him, and dragging an upended IV stand still attached by tubes to his arm.

"Shit! Gotta go!" exclaimed Morgan, cancelling the call and shoving the phone back in his pocket. He knew he was gonna catch hell from Garcia later. That woman did not take kindly to being hung up on but it couldn't be helped!

"Kid?" he called softly as he approached, "It's just me… Derek… Just you and me..."

All he got was a pained whimper in reply. He dropped to his knees and crawled to where the child was hiding. The poor little thing was huddled, pressed hard against the wall between the stand with the heart monitor on it and a bedside table unit. He had his hands over his face, his knees pulled up against his chest, and he was rocking back and forth.

"Hey" said Morgan, using as soft a tone as he could manage, "Hey…Kid…" He reached out and tentatively touched the child on the arm.

The boy yelped and pulled away, turning his face close to the wall to try to hide even more.

"Kid… it's really just me... You remember me, don't you?" he began to say, "I just want to…" He noticed the child turning his head, as though he was scanning the room for the sounds of other people. "I swear, kid..." said Morgan, "You're safe... It's just me..."

Out of nowhere came a small raspy voice. "Not true!" whined the child, shaking his head back and forth, "Not true! ...It's not true!"

Morgan was too shocked to speak for a moment. The boy could talk! He wasn't a mute after all!

"What's not true?" he asked.

He got no answer. The child was just shaking his head and breathing heavily.

"Come on, kid" he coaxed, "What d'ya mean? What's not true?"

When the child didn't answer, he began to wonder if he'd imagined it. Had the boy really spoken?

"Kid?" he tried again.

"She's not dead!" cried the child, shattering the silence, "You're lying! My mommy's not dead! She's not dead!" His whole body was shaking violently, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Oh God!" groaned Morgan, his stomach sinking. The poor kid had overheard him on the phone! How could he have been so stupid?! To break the news this way?! So callously?! To tell him his mother was dead, and that his father had murdered her?!

"I'm so sorry, kid" he said, reaching for him in a cautious way and trying to pull him into his arms, "You shouldn't have had to find out like that…"

"Nooooo!" screamed the child, frantically shaking his head and pushing at Morgan's chest with both hands, "Not true! You're lying! You're lying!" When Morgan tried to stop him pushing at his chest he began to lash out more violently. "Nooooo!" he screamed, smacking at Morgan's face, "Mommy?! ...Mommy?!"

"Shhhh, baby" soothed Morgan. He ignored the child's attempts to get away, pulling him into his lap, and enveloping him in his arms. "Shhh… shhhh… shhhh…" he continued to coo, fighting to hold his arms still as he began to rock him back and forth, "Shhh, kid… easy..." He just kept repeating it over and over, trying to soothe and calm him.

After a few moments, the child collapsed against him. Too tired to keep fighting, he started sobbing inconsolably. "Mo-hommy" he cried, one side of his face pressed hard against the man's muscular t-shirted chest. His little mouth was pulled into a pained grimace as he tried to talk through his tears. His voice sounded tight and strained from disuse. "W-where is she?!" he cried, "I want my mommy! …I want my m-mommy! You're lying… She's not dead!"

"I'm so sorry, kid" said Morgan, resting his chin on top of the child's head, "I'm so sorry…we couldn't save her... She was already gone when we got there."

The boy let out a wail and seemed to curl in on himself. How Morgan wished that he could take away his pain. The utter despair coursing through the little body in his arms was heart-wrenching. But he couldn't. He couldn't! The woman was dead. She'd been decaying on the floor of the house that they'd found him in and there was nothing that he could do to change that.

"You're gonna be okay" he whispered to him as he rocked him gently back and forth, "It's gonna be okay… It's gonna be okay… I got ya, baby boy… I got ya…"

Slowly, the boy began to calm, sobbing a little more quietly, or maybe just running out of energy… In any case, he eventually stopped crying and stuck his thumb in his mouth, simply allowing himself to be held.

"Hey buddy?" said Morgan, looking down at him and jostling him a little. He got no response. After another couple of attempts to get him to speak, he began to wonder if he'd become catatonic. Without being able to see his eyes, he had no way to know.

"Okay, buddy" he said, repositioning him to make him easier to lift, "Let's get you back to bed, huh?"

He climbed to his feet with a dramatic groan and picked the IV stand up to move towards the bed. He couldn't help grimacing at the bony feel of the kid's body and how little he weighed. How on earth was this a 6-year-old?! Where was the rest of him?! Hank weighed more than him and he was only 4 years old!

He set the boy down on the mattress and began to try to untangle him from his arms.

"No! D-don't l-leave me" whimpered a small voice, so choked and weak it wasn't much more than a whisper, "Please D-Derek?" He raised his face as though he was looking up at him. "I'm… I… I… I'm scared!" he admitted, "I don't want..."

"Oh baby, don't be scared!" cooed Morgan, sitting down on the mattress and holding the boy close to his chest, "I'm here now. I'm gonna make sure you're safe… No-one's gonna hurt you ever again. Not ever, you hear me?"

"B-but the doctors…" the boy stuttered out, "The… the doctors…"

"The doctors aren't going to hurt you" explained Morgan, "I won't let them do anything bad to you. I promise you…" He took the boy's small chin in his hand and tilted his face up towards him again. "You trust me?" he asked.

The child didn't answer immediately, furrowing his brow, as though in deep thought. He licked his lips before speaking again. "Y-yes" he said quietly.

"That's good" chuckled Morgan, "Because you and me… We're gonna be best buds, 'kay? And buddies look out for each other. They have each other's backs…" He took the boy's little hand and got him to make a fist so he could bump his own off it. The child just looked perplexed so he stroked the side of his face softly instead. "So… I'm gonna stay right here with you" he promised him, "…and I'm not gonna leave until I make sure you're okay… Okay?"

The child nodded, but something about his expression made him seem a little doubtful. Morgan couldn't help wondering if he'd ever been able to trust the people in his life not to hurt him? Had he ever had someone stand up for him and protect him? Obviously, his mother hadn't been able to, or he wouldn't be blind. Why should the boy trust a word that anyone said?! Why should he trust a man he'd only just met and whose face he'd never seen? Why him? Why now? Was it simply that he had nothing left to lose?

"You trust me enough to tell me your name?" he asked, cupping the side of the boy's face, "I mean, if we're gonna be buddies, then I think I should know what to call you… don't you?"

The boy licked his lips again. It was obviously something he did when he was nervous. "Sp… Spencer" he whispered quietly, "Spencer Reid."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Thank you to Pembie, spxxxxx, JessicaRae95, Womenreligiousfan, Dextolan, and 'guest' (whoever you are!) for your support. You're lovely lovely people! This chapter is Morgan and Reid, but don't worry, the next one will have the rest of the team in it!**

* * *

" _You trust me enough to tell me your name?" he asked, cupping the side of the boy's face, "I mean, if we're gonna be buddies, then I think I should know what to call you… don't you?"_

 _The boy licked his lips again. It was obviously something he did when he was nervous. "Sp… Spencer" he whispered quietly, "Spencer Reid."_

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Morgan smiled at the child and ruffled his hair. Now he was getting somewhere! "Oh yeah? Spencer, huh?" he said, taking his phone out and tapping the name 'Spencer Reid' into his phone to send to Garcia. "Now, that is a cool name!" he said, laying it on thick, "I wish I had a name that cool!"

It was the same tone of voice that he often used with Hank, the voice that usually only came out to play when his son had injured himself. ' _Like, maybe if I distract you with something fun, you won't go into a total meltdown?'_ Right now, he wondered if he was being a little patronising though. The boy was possibly older than he looked.

The child just shrugged, knitting his brow together anxiously. He was holding his wrist with the brace on it close to his chest, almost cradling it for comfort.

"Okay, come on, Spencer" said Morgan, pulling the both of them back on the bed so they could lean against the headrest.

The boy tensed at first, unsure of what was happening, but Morgan soon had them settled side by side. The child even allowed him to put his arm around his shoulders.

"That's better" sighed Morgan, "You comfy, kid?"

The boy didn't answer. He just shrugged again. In any other child, it might have seemed like disinterest, but Spencer's body language was screaming _'I'm terrified'_. His body was tense, shaking, and in a constant state of hypervigilance. He was clearly anything but comfortable!

"Hey, come on, Spencer?" said the man, gently lifting the child's chin up towards him. The boy was trembling and even without being able to see his eyes, it was clear that he was frightened out of his wits. "How you doing, kid?" he asked, "You need anything? You in any pain?"

Spencer quickly shook his head and turned his face away from Morgan.

"You sure?" he asked, "'Cos I can go get someone… Get them to come give you some medicine?" He began to make a move to get up.

The child gave a panicked yelp in response and reached out, frantically grabbing at the nearest thing within reach. He got hold of the man's pant leg and twisted it in his fingers to keep hold of him.

"Hey, hey, no, no, no, it's okay!" Morgan assured him, laying his hand on top of the boy's clenched one and massaging the little fingers to get him to let go.

The boy's chest was heaving in and out now as he began to hyperventilate, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. To say that he was scared of being left on his own was somewhat of an understatement.

"I'll stay… I'll stay…" insisted Morgan, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay... Okay, Spencer?"

The boy nodded, and licked his sore chapped lips, but he wasn't about to let go anytime soon. Little white knuckles held on tight to black jeans. Morgan wasn't going anywhere without a fight.

"Okay" sighed Morgan, settling back against the bed, "But if you need anything, you need to tell me, okay?"

Spencer frowned, knitting his eyebrows together, as though deep in thought. He obviously wasn't ready to speak.

"Come on" coaxed Morgan, pulling the child's tense little body back against him. "You're okay" he soothed, as he carded a hand through the boy's now sweaty hair, "I won't leave you, Spencer, I promise." The motion of Morgan's gentle fingers seemed to relax him a little, and Morgan blew out a breath of relief, when the child's breathing began to return to a more normal pace. He smiled at a nurse who stuck her head in the door to check on them and gave a thumbs-up to say that they were okay.

"Thirsty" came a little voice, suddenly breaking the silence. It was hoarse and cracked, and so timid it was almost a whisper.

"Oh, God" gasped Morgan, "Yeah, kid, here!" He leant over and poured some water into the plastic tumbler beside the bed before bringing it to the boy's lips. "Here, here's some water."

He felt bad that he hadn't even thought of getting him a glass of water. Of course, he must be thirsty! His poor little throat must be as dry as the Sahara Desert!

He guided the boy's hand to the plastic glass and let him hold it himself. He couldn't help smiling when he saw him gulp down the water to the very last drop and let out a satisfied little sigh. It was the most normal thing the boy had done since he'd met him. He took the glass from his little hands and set it back on the table beside the bed. "Better?" he asked.

The boy nodded and curled in against the older man's side as though he wanted to go to sleep. Even so, it was clear he was fighting it, giving little jerks, and raising his head when he started to nod off. Morgan was sure that if he could have seen his eyes, they would have been drooping.

They sat in silence like that for a while, the only interruption Garcia's reply ' _No such luck, Hot stuff. Not a single record of Spencer Reid! Poor little angel! Hotch with the coroner now_.' He gave a heavy sigh and set the phone down. The kid just couldn't catch a break!

"Is… Is your n-name really Derek?" asked a small shaking voice. Morgan looked down at him in surprise.

"Yeah, kid, it is" he answered.

"B-but… I heard people call you Morgan?" he said, "That other man, the angry one…"

"That's my last name" explained Morgan, "My first name's Derek... I'm Agent Derek Morgan."

"And you're… you're with … with the g-government?" he asked, "And you… you came to take me away?"

"I'm in the FBI" answered Morgan, "I'm a special kind of policeman… We find bad guys and put them in prison…"

"So… so, um…" he asked, turning his face up with a worried frown, "Am I… Are you gonna put me in prison? Are we in prison now?"

"Naw, kid" he said, with a little chuckle, "Cos you're not a bad guy…"

The boy frowned and lowered his head, like all the 'guilty puppy' videos you see on YouTube. His body language said that he thought he was 'bad'. How many times had he been told that he was?

"Hey" said Morgan, giving the kid's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "You're a good kid, Spencer…"

"My mom…" said the boy, knitting his brow in a worried way, "She… she named me that after Edmund Spenser. He… he was one of the greatest poets of Elizabethan England. He wrote ' _The Faerie Queen'_."

"Oh yeah?" asked Morgan, surprised at the child's eloquence, "The Fairy Queen?"

"Uh huh" answered Spencer, "It extols the virtues of Holiness, Temperance, Chastity… um… Friendship, Justice, and um… Courtesy…" He was counting them off on his little fingers. "All of which" he explained, "Mommy says are things to aspire to…and while no-one can achieve them all, it doesn't… it doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for them."

"Wow! chuckled Morgan, "Those are a lot of big words!… Where did you learn all that stuff? Your mom teach you?"

He wanted to keep the boy talking. The kid just seemed so eager to share his knowledge, his little body beginning to relax for the first time since he'd woken up. It was like he was coming back to life. A light switched on inside him. He gave the kid's shoulder another little squeeze as a sign of encouragement and was surprised to feel him lean into the embrace.

"Uh huh" the boy nodded again, "Mommy reads to me..."

Just then, his mouth twisted a little as he fought not to cry, the realisation that his mother was gone was slowly sinking in.

"She read to me all the time…" he said, using the past tense for the first time. "She always said it was the best way to enjoy a book… But… but I like to read too…" he stammered, "We… We share… _shared_ a love of books…" His head was hanging low now, one hand picking at the brace on his wrist.

"Oh yeah?" asked Morgan, amazed that the boy was opening up to him like this, "What do you like to read?"

"Everything" he replied with a shrug, "The classics… Anything by Shakespeare… My m-mom liked to read me Chaucer…"

"Chaucer?!" exclaimed Morgan.

He was genuinely surprised that a child his age would ever have even heard the name Chaucer. He, himself, had made the foolish decision to minor in Medieval English Literature for a semester (more to do with his pursuit of a girl named Alyssa, than any particular interest in anything those crusty old Englishmen had to say). All he'd succeeded in doing was making a fool of himself when it became clear that he couldn't understand ' _Ye Olde'_ English. A book in Morse code might have been easier… and more useful in the long run! How could this small child make sense of it, especially with his mother seemingly reading it out loud to him?! Surely, it just sounded like Klingon?!

The child nodded. "Mom liked ' _The Parliament of Fowles'_ " he answered earnestly, "But I like _'The Pardoner's Tale'_ more… And I was reading poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson before … before… um…" He furrowed his little brow and brought his hand up to tentatively touch the bandages on his eyes. It was a moment or two before he spoke again, shoulders slumped defeatedly. "But now I can't…" he added miserably, "I… I guess I can't read anymore."

"Oh kid, I'm sorry." sighed Morgan.

How would a child who liked to read so much ever adjust to being blind? He made a mental note to ask Garcia about getting some audio books for him.

"It… It's okay" shrugged the boy, resignation and sadness in his voice.

Morgan shook his head in wonder. How could something like this be 'okay'?! The resilience and inner strength of this child was nothing short of amazing! But he was also very fragile. Much as he wanted to ask him what had happened to his eyes, he sensed that this was not the time. He needed the boy to be more comfortable talking to him before he broached a subject that painful.

"But, y'know Spencer" he said, trying a different tack, "Maybe you can learn braille? Do you know what that is?"

The child nodded tiredly and chewed his bottom lip. He seemed to have his doubts about that idea.

"I'm sure a smart kid like you can learn anything you want to" said Morgan, giving his shoulder a reassuring little squeeze, "I mean you were reading Chaucer! I couldn't even read that when I was in college, man… I mean, how old are you anyway?"

The boy frowned and lowered his head again. "I don't… I don't know" he admitted, an incredible sadness in his voice, "It… It depends what date it is…"

"It's…" said Morgan, having to think for a moment, "It's um… it's the 7th August…"

"What year?" asked the child, his voice shaking a little.

This was so strange. It really wasn't like talking to a child. It was more like that scene in a movie where a time traveller turns up and runs around desperately looking for a newspaper so they can find out where they are. He might have found it funny had he not been looking at the saddest child he'd ever met. The implications of that question were not lost on him. The boy clearly knew that he'd been kept in that basement for a long time. He just didn't know for how long. Without his sight, he wouldn't have even been able to gauge night and day. It must have been pure torture!

"It's 2017" answered Morgan, a shake to his own voice. Just how long had the poor kid been down in that hole?!

The boy nodded and then let out a little sob. "That means I'm 8 years, 9 months, and 10 days old…"

"Do… Do you know how long you were in that basement?" asked Morgan, doing his best to keep his voice soft and calm. He couldn't let the boy know how angry he was, it might scare him.

"15 months" the child muttered, tears choking his voice, "15 months and… and 3 days… I think."

Morgan was shocked. Not only by the length of the child's captivity and torture, but by his ability to calculate the time right down to the day. He suspected the boy might even be able to convert that to hours and minutes. How smart was this kid?!

"Oh, buddy" groaned Morgan, "I'm so sorry…" He pulled him in a little closer and hugged him tight against his chest. "You're gonna be okay" he told him, "You don't ever have to go back there, okay… You're safe now."

The child allowed the man to hold him for a moment, crying softly in his arms, the bandage around his eyes catching his tears. "Derek?" he said, after a while, "Are you… Are you sure my mom's really dead?"

He looked at the boy's pale little face, so drawn and sad, and felt his heart break.

"I'm so sorry, Baby Boy…" he answered, stroking the kid's little back when he felt his breath hitch, "…but yes, your mom is gone… We couldn't save her. She'd been dead for a couple of days when we got there."

With a child this intelligent, he felt that honesty was probably the best policy. He couldn't lie to him.

"But… but… what happened to her?" he stammered, "Did… did someone…"

"We don't know yet, buddy... But we're gonna find out."

That wasn't quite true. He knew that she'd died from a swelling of the brain but they didn't have a conclusive cause of death yet. They weren't even sure if it was murder, or if it had been caused by an underlying health problem. The bruises on her wrists certainly pointed to foul play, but without an obvious injury resulting in death, they couldn't be sure. They were waiting for the tox screen and pathology results to come back.

The child muttered something under his breath which Morgan didn't hear, but it sounded like _'She was right'._

"What was that?" asked Morgan, but the child pulled away from him instead of answering. Suddenly his whole body was tense again.

Morgan watched as the boy began patting himself down and turning his head as though listening to their surroundings. His mouth was pulled into a thin line, his brow furrowed in concentration, as he investigated the cannula needle in his arm and the brace on his wrist. He seemed to have only really registered them now. Maybe he'd still been a little out of it after the sedation?

"Where are we?" he demanded suddenly, pulling at his hospital gown and sniffing at it suspiciously, "Where is this?! What are you doing to me?!"

"Oh, kid" sighed Morgan, "You're in the hospital… We just…"

"No!" gasped the boy, turning his head this way and that, his mouth fallen open in a shocked 'O' shape. He looked terrified. "No, please, Derek?!" he squealed, beginning to scramble in an attempt to get out of Morgan's arms and off the bed again, "Don't let them… Please?!"

"Hey, hey, hey… Spencer, stop!" gasped Morgan, as he struggled to hold him still, "It's okay! It's okay!" He had to stop him from ripping the needle out of his arm, pulling his hands away.

What on earth had just happened?!

"No… p-please?!" the child began to stammer, but suddenly there was a very loud clanging noise out in the corridor that made him jump. His little hand flew up and covered his mouth as though to stop himself from speaking. Morgan could feel the child's heart hammering through the gown as he held his small body in his hands.

"It's okay" soothed Morgan, stroking his back to try to calm him, "Someone just dropped some trays… no need to be scared." He couldn't help being concerned though. The boy had gone deathly pale and was shaking violently.

"S-sorry" whispered the child, his voice muffled by his hand, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I'm not allowed to talk… P-Please don't tell them I talked… I didn't mean to! Are the cameras watching?" He sounded on the verge of hysteria.

"Who said you couldn't talk?" frowned Morgan, "And what do you mean cameras?!"

This case was just getting darker and darker. Had William Reid been so cruel as to take away his child's sight as well as his voice?! Had he filmed him?! …And… wait… Had he just said ' _them'_?! Was there more than one abuser involved here?!

The boy just clamped his hand tighter over his mouth and began to rock himself. It was like he was mentally withdrawing.

"Hey, no, Spencer, you can talk!" insisted Morgan, "I'm here now… and I promised you I was gonna keep you safe. No-one's gonna do anything to you ever again… I won't tell 'them', okay, whoever they are… I won't! and there are no cameras… No-one's watching you!"

He tried to take the boy's hand away from his mouth, but when he did, the kid just clamped his lips together and shook his head. His body was shaking and he was sweating out of fear.

"Baby Boy, listen to me" he pleaded, "I need you to trust me, okay… I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you…" When he got no response, he picked up the call button and pressed it. He needed some help in here. He didn't know what he was doing and he was scared that he was just going to make things worse.

Just then, Dr Robbins appeared in the doorway with two even younger looking doctors hot on her tail. They'd obviously thought that there was a medical emergency and rushed to get there.

Morgan grimaced. He hadn't meant to press the emergency call button. He'd just wanted a nurse to look in on him.

"He's awake" he explained, "And he's talking… but he… he's freaking out a little… and I…"

"It's okay, agent Morgan" said Dr Robbins, as she began to move towards the bed, "Let me take a look at him…"

He felt the child tense in his arms, every muscle in his little body going rigid and trembling. He obviously didn't want the doctor anywhere near him.

"Shhh…" he said to Spencer, stroking his hair gently behind his ear, "Shh… It's okay, Spencer… The doctor just wants to look at you and see how you are…"

"Mmmrrrrrrhhhhhm!" moaned the child, jerking away from the doctor's hand as soon as she made contact. Morgan had to fight to hold him still and he couldn't help feeling bad for doing it. Was he betraying his trust already?!

"Spencer" the doctor said softly. She'd obviously picked up on Morgan's use of the child's name. She retracted her hand and pulled up a chair instead. "My name is Dr Robbins" she said, keeping her voice low and calm, "Now, I know you're scared but… I can assure you, Spencer, no-one is going to hurt you… All I want to do is check your bandages and have a look at some of your injuries… Now, if you want, Agent Morgan can stay with you… or I can ask him to step outside while I check you over…?"

The boy yelped and gripped onto Morgan's shirt, hiding his face in his chest. His knuckles were turning white because of how tight a hold he had.

"I think I have my answer" chuckled the doctor.

Just then an auxiliary dressed in pink scrubs bustled through the door and smiled at the small boy as she slid a tray of food onto the table beside the bed. She'd clearly noticed the child flinch, but chosen to ignore it.

"Someone told me there was a boy who needed some breakfast!" she announced, using a voice more suitable for pantomime, "So, I brought a little bit of everything because I wasn't sure what he'd like."

"Thanks" said Morgan, glancing up at her apologetically when Spencer just whimpered and hid his face. He clearly wasn't taken in by the overly-animated voice. No matter how nice she was trying to sound, he didn't know her, and that scared him.

"No problem" she said, her smile faltering when she saw the doctor motion for her to leave. "Oh… uh… okay" she stammered, "I'll be back in a while to get the tray." With that she turned and left.

"Okay" said Dr Robbins, "How about we get Spencer something to eat and drink before we do any more tests?"

She leaned forward and removed the tray cover, revealing a little pot of Jell-O, a bowl of oatmeal, an apple cut up into sections, a carton of milk, and some scrambled egg and toast.

"Hey, little man, you want some food?" asked Morgan, throwing Dr Robbins a grateful smile. He figured that most people calmed down once they had a belly full of food so it was definitely worth a try. He glanced at the selection of food on the tray. It didn't look particularly appetising, but given that the boy probably hadn't eaten in about 4 days, he was pretty sure that he'd wolf this stuff down. "I bet you're hungry?" he coaxed.

The child didn't answer. He just kept holding on.

"Come on, Kid" he pleaded, "I know you haven't eaten for at least a few days… and I happen to know you're hungry 'cos I've heard your tummy rumbling all night long… So, why don't we get you some…"

The child was clearly listening, his small face now tilted up towards him. He unconsciously licked his lips at the mention of food.

"Jell-O?" suggested Morgan.

The child looked perplexed, as though he'd never heard of Jell-O in his life… Maybe he hadn't?

"What about some scrambled egg?" suggested the doctor, "Or some oatmeal?"

"What do you think?" asked Morgan, gently tucking the child's hair behind his ears, "Sound good? Maybe some milk too?"

Spencer furrowed his brow for a moment as though in silent battle with his own internal thoughts, but after a moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "Coffee?" he asked hopefully, "With 4 sugars?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Thanks once again to my reviewers (Cherubim, AZCatmom, spxxxxx, Dextolan, Pembie, walkthepathofdaydreams, vickysnape, and JessicaRae95). I really appreciate the support from each and every one of you. You're lovely! Mwah, mwah!**

 **I really hope you like this one…**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Spencer took the spoon from Derek's hand, bringing it to his nose, and sniffing at it suspiciously. He was doing his best to push aside his fear and trust that these people weren't going to hurt him. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to feel safe.

As the scent of the oatmeal hit his nose, he couldn't deny that it smelt good, all sugary and creamy, and sprinkled with cinnamon. It smelt even better than coffee, his one true love. He wondered why these people wouldn't allow him to have any. They'd told him 'no' and laughed at him for even asking but he didn't understand why. After all, he'd been drinking coffee for as long as he could remember. His mom had always let him have some of hers, even when he was really small. What was so strange about that?!

He consoled himself with the fact that this 'oatmeal' stuff, whatever it was, smelt like heaven! In fact, it smelt better than anything he'd ever eaten. Better than Pop Tarts! Better than Twinkies! Better even than the vanilla ice cream his mom used to give him oh so long ago, before things had gone so wrong...

But he didn't want to think about that.

Right now, in this moment, he couldn't imagine a more enticing spoonful of food. He wanted it so badly. He needed it! How long had it been since he'd eaten? Four, maybe five days? And even then, all he'd had was a packet of Saltines. He was starving! Literally! His mouth began to water instinctively, and his stomach practically screamed its approval, demanding that he feed it _now_ …

But he hesitated for a moment when he imagined his mother's voice and what she would have said to him…

' _They'll drug you, Spencer'_ she would have hissed at him, _'They'll pretend they're your friend. They'll tell you they're trying to help… but they'll drug you and then they'll lock you up... I'm warning you baby, they did it to me and they'll do it to you. You have to be smart, baby… You have to be smarter than them!'_

He could almost feel her hot breath against his ear, the anger and fear in her voice. It scared him. He didn't like it when she was like that. All anxious and hand-wringing. It usually meant something bad was going to happen… But right now, he was more worried that she was right… After all, this _was_ a hospital… There was every chance that they were going to drug him and then run all sorts of experiments on him. Horrible painful experiments, like electric shock therapy or implants in his brain… or worse still, maybe they'd put those things back? His mom had told him all about it…

But then he figured if they wanted to do that, they didn't need to do it through his food. He had a cannula in his arm. A needle imbedded there that they wouldn't let him take out. If they wanted to drug him, they had no need to hide the drugs in this delicious steaming 'oatmeal'. That wouldn't make any sense at all.

' _Besides!'_ he told himself, ' _Derek's my friend… He wouldn't hurt me… He wouldn't let them hurt me.'_

He wasn't entirely sure that he believed that, but right now, his tummy really needed him to. He couldn't hold out any longer! Shaking himself, he succeeded in finding his mouth with the spoon and moaned in appreciation at the first delicious mouthful. If they were drugging him, then so be it! This stuff was every bit as good as it smelled. Every bit as good as he'd imagined it would be.

"That good?" he heard Derek ask, as the man's hand carded idly through his hair. He wondered why the man kept doing that. Normally Spencer would have pulled away, but for some reason, he didn't want to. There was something comforting about this man's touch. Something that made him feel safe. He'd felt that almost immediately after meeting him.

"We got an oatmeal fan?" teased the older man.

"Uh hmm" he responded through a mouth full of food.

He was relieved that the doctor had gone away and now it was just him and Derek. That woman just made him nervous. He didn't like the way she pawed all over him without asking, or the way she spoke to him. And then there was the simple fact that she was a _doctor_. His mom had warned him about the evils of doctors far too many times. He knew that they worked for the government, and they were cruel and unpredictable, and sadistic, and that they might even cut you open for no good reason at all. He knew that they liked to pump you full of medications and play with your mind. That they put things inside you and under your skin and then pretended that they weren't even there. That they manipulated people and ruined their lives. So, naturally, he was scared of what this doctor was going to do to him. How was he meant to eat when he had someone like that sitting there staring at him?! Like a vulture?

"I knew you'd like it" chuckled Derek, "Made it nice and sweet for you too, just the way I like it…You like it, kid?"

Spencer nodded. The oatmeal really was good, he couldn't argue with that, and he definitely couldn't help the hint of a smile that was slowly forming on his lips as he swallowed it down. When was the last time he'd smiled, he wondered? The sensation felt a little alien.

"You and me both" said Derek, seemingly ignoring the lack of conversation, "I used to eat gallons of the stuff when I was your age! Couldn't get enough of it… You want some more?"

Spencer nodded again and held out the spoon, asking silently for it to be refilled. He couldn't help basking in the happy feeling of having something warm in his belly. He didn't remember the last time he'd had warm food. Even the coffee his mom gave him was usually cold and sometimes a day or two old. He'd forgotten how comforting it was, like being hugged from the inside.

"Here you go" he heard Derek say, and then a large warm hand was guiding his smaller hand to the bowl and showing him how to scoop up some more of the cinnamon goodness. "See… you got this!" the man said with a chuckle, "You got this, kid!"

Spencer gave a nervous little half-smile in response to the encouragement and tentatively brought the spoon back to his mouth. He was a little embarrassed, because he wasn't well practiced at using utensils, and even less so now that he was blind. His mom had never gone in for what she called 'fancy' food. She preferred the handheld variety. It was all Pop Tarts and frozen burritos.

He sniffed the spoon again, before sticking it in his mouth. It was a habit he'd developed since he'd lost his sight. He was very reluctant to put anything in his mouth, not until he was absolutely sure that he knew what it was. He'd learnt that the hard way.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" said Derek, clearly coaxing him to talk again, "Cinnamon makes everything taste better… Smells like Christmas!"

Spencer furrowed his brow a little as he chewed his third mouthful of creamy deliciousness. He had no idea what the man was talking about. How could cinnamon smell like Christmas, and how could a Christian festival to celebrate the rather far-fetched story of a virgin birth have anything to do with his breakfast?! Had he missed something?!

He cautiously brought the spoon back to the bowl himself and fished for another scoop, all the while deep in thought about this 'Christmas' thing. It really didn't make sense to him. Nowhere in the bible did it mention 'cinnamon' in reference to 'oatmeal'. He scanned his memory for references to cinnamon in the Bible and found only four in the entire text. None of them had anything to do with breakfast foods. Where was the basis for such a comparison?

"Well done, kid!" said Derek, as Spencer succeeded in finding the bowl again, "I knew you could do it!"

"Huh?" murmured Spencer, another spoonful of oatmeal now safely deposited in his mouth. He'd been lost in thought. _'I have sprinkled my bed with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon'_ he quoted to himself, ' _Proverbs, 7.17'_ Nowhere did it mention having cinnamon and sugar on creamy breakfast porridge. Did Derek even know the Bible at all?!

He wanted to quiz Derek a little more about it, but before he got the chance he heard someone knock a 'rat-a-tat' sound on the doorframe. He unconsciously grabbed at the material of Derek's shirt to keep him in place. Everything in his little body was screaming ' _please don't leave me!'_

"Hey JJ, I got your text…" he heard Derek say, and the man's hand was back stroking through his hair, "Spencer, this is my friend, Jennifer… She works with me at the FBI."

"Hey Spencer!" cooed a soft female voice and then he heard light footsteps approach from across the room, "How you doing, sweetheart?"

Spencer shook his head and leaned in closer to Derek's warm body. He didn't want to talk to this woman. He didn't want to talk to anyone! His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest again and he dropped the spoon onto the tray. What did she want?!

"It's okay" said Derek, obviously talking to the woman rather than him, "He's just a little shy…"

"That's okay" said the woman, "That's why Hotch sent me, thought he might respond better to a female…"

"Yeah… I guess" he heard Derek agree, "Doesn't like the doctor though… and she's a woman."

Spencer frowned a little. He didn't like them talking about him as though he wasn't there. And it didn't matter if this 'Jennifer' was a man or a woman. She was from the government and his mom had made it pretty clear what the government would do to someone like him. He still wasn't sure why Derek, a government agent, was being so nice to him, or why he was acting as his protector. Why hadn't they both hauled him off to some government facility and handed him over? Or was that exactly what they were doing now? Was that why she was here?! Had Derek been putting on a 'nice guy' act all along?!

There was a scraping noise as a chair was pulled across towards the bed and then he heard the woman give a light sort of sigh as she sat down. He felt Derek rubbing his back in a comforting way but he couldn't relax no matter how hard he tried.

"We get any further on the COD?" asked Derek, again talking to the woman, rather than him.

"I haven't heard" replied the woman, "Hotch just asked if I could come and take a witness statement from Spencer… Rossi's downstairs getting us some breakfast."

He felt Derek's body move in a rocking kind of motion which he guessed was the man nodding his head. He was obviously going to let this woman interrogate him.

"Hey, Spencer… I brought something for you" said the woman.

There was a rustling sound and then something soft touched his arm and startled him. He jerked back with a frightened gasp. He didn't like people touching him out of nowhere. In truth, he didn't like people touching him full stop…

"Oh no, sweetie, it's just a teddy bear…" she said, sounding a little shocked by his response, "I just thought you might want something to hug, might make you feel better?"

"Here, buddy" he heard Derek say, and then the man's hand was guiding his forward. He jumped a little when his hand made contact with something soft and furry. "It's just a brown teddy bear…" said Derek, "You've had a teddy before, haven't you?"

He frowned a little and shook his head. He didn't remember ever having had a teddy bear but he was familiar with the concept from some of the books he'd read. This was his first time touching one. He reached out and took the bear in his hands. It didn't weigh a lot but it was incredibly soft, and as he felt all over it he quickly formed a mental image. It had two hard glassy eyes and a leather patch for a nose. It had two little arms, and two legs, with corduroy patches sewn on the ends, and the ears and tummy had some sort of fleece material that was softer than everything else. He felt a little childish, and more than a little embarrassed by his need for comfort, but he brought the bear close to his body and buried his face in the back of its head. It smelt clean. Something he hadn't been himself for a very long time.

"You like him?" asked the woman.

Spencer didn't answer. He knew that he was being rude, especially since the woman had brought him a gift, but he didn't want to talk to her, and he recognised bribery when he saw it. Did she think this was all it would take to win his trust?

"Kid, it's just my friend" said Derek, softly stroking his hair again, "We work together, and we've been friends for a long time. We might as well be family…" He felt the man lean in close so he could whisper in his ear. "Don't tell her I told you this" he whispered theatrically, "But she's really pretty too. She has beautiful blonde hair, and blue eyes, and one of the nicest smiles you'll ever see… And she has the biggest kindest heart of just about anyone I know… I think you'd really like her if you gave her a chance."

Spencer chewed his bottom lip. This didn't sound like the way government agents should talk about each other. He didn't know what to do.

"You know, I have a son… His name's Hank…" said Derek, "And Jennifer has two boys, Henry and Michael… and they play together all the time. And we have barbecues and cookouts… And my wife, Penelope? Well these two are best friends…"

"That's right, Spencer… We all work together" she said, "…but we're more than work friends, we're one big family."

Spencer licked his lips a little nervously. He wanted to believe what they were saying. He wanted to believe that people like these really existed. That 'families' like this existed, full of happiness and kindness… but it wasn't within his realms of experience. What were they talking about?!

"And that teddy bear" said the woman, "It's from our friend, Penelope. Mrs Morgan. When you meet her, you'll have to fight her off because she'll want to hug you till you squeak!"

Spencer's body tensed at that and he moved closer to Derek. Penelope sounded a little scary, even if she had sent him the teddy. "I… I don't want to squeak" Spencer stammered, the first words he'd said since the woman had arrived.

"Hey, hey, bud, she's just kidding" chuckled Derek, "My wife is the kindest woman I know. She won't hurt you... She might overfeed you, cookies and cupcakes and stuff like that... and she gets a bit overexcited sometimes... and damn that woman has a colorful wardrobe... but kid, she'd never hurt you. What Jennifer said, it's just a figure of speech..."

Spencer nodded and hugged the teddy a little closer to his chest. He'd never heard that particular figure of speech before. He didn't like the implications.

"So, what do ya think, buddy?" said Derek, rubbing a circle on his back, "You think you're up to answering a few questions for Jennifer? You wanna help us?"

He furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"Come on, kid" he heard the older man coax, "We need to ask you some stuff so we can find out what happened to your mom."

He frowned, hanging his head a little. He didn't know what to do. On the one hand these people were from the government and he knew that his mother would have been screaming at him not to trust them, no matter how nice they seemed. On the other, he wanted to know what had happened. Had his mother been right? Had they been found?! Had all the hiding, and everything they'd had to do, been for nothing?!

"Spencer" he heard the woman say, "All I want to do is ask you a few questions… Nothing else. I won't touch you and you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to… Derek's gonna stay here the whole time."

He licked his lips again. "Okay" he said quietly.

"Okay?" he heard the woman ask.

He nodded. He'd said yes, hadn't he?!

"Okay then, Spencer" said the woman, with a smile almost audible in her voice, "Let's start at the beginning… Have you always lived in the house we found you in?"

Another nod.

"Okay, and has it always just been you and your mom?" she asked.

He shook his head and hugged the teddy bear a little closer. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest again, he didn't want to talk about this.

"There was someone else there with you?" she asked.

He bit his bottom lip. He couldn't tell her. He wasn't allowed to tell! How many times had his mother screamed that at him?! How many times had she told him what would happen if he did. He was almost too scared to think!

"Was it your daddy?" he heard Derek ask, a gentle hand reaching under his chin to raise his face up, "Is that who lived with you?"

He pursed his lips together, his body starting to tremble, his heart going like a jackhammer.

They obviously took his fear response as a 'yes'. "But your daddy doesn't live with you now?" prompted the woman.

He shook his head and clenched his jaw. He didn't want to answer these questions. If they found out the truth, they'd know how bad he was. They'd lock him up for sure.

"How long ago did he leave, Spencer?" That was Derek.

He shrugged. He didn't know how long ago it was. He didn't know!

"Spencer, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about" said Derek, carding his fingers through his hair again, "But… did your daddy hurt you?"

He began to shake his head, hugging the teddy hard against his chest. Images of an angry sweaty face flashed through his mind.

 _He could feel spittle sparking on his face as the man growled insults at him. Hard fists jammed into his stomach over and over making it hard for him to breathe. He started to vomit. A hand reached down and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back hard so he had to look up. 'Why couldn't I just have a normal kid?!' his father screamed in his face, 'Instead I got a little freak like you! Should have known with a mother like yours! Can't even pretend to be normal, can you?!"_

"Spencer?!" called a now familiar voice, and strong hands were gripping his shoulders, "Buddy, just take a breath… come on kid, just breathe…"

He tried to listen to what Derek was saying. On some level, he did understand that he wasn't in that house anymore and that his dad wasn't there… but he could _feel_ him hitting him. He could _feel_ his fists mercilessly pounding down on top of him. His chest was heaving, as he struggled for each breath. It was so tight it hurt.

"Spencer, sweetie" said Jennifer, who was now on her feet and standing much closer, "You need to try to calm down honey…"

' _You stupid bitch!' he heard his father screaming from behind a closed bedroom door. There was a colossal bang as something hit the floor, and then pain-filled shrieks filled the air. 'Stop hurting my mommy!' he squealed, pounding with his little fists on the door, 'Stop it!'_

"Hey, hey, easy now" Derek said, with obvious concern in his voice, but he couldn't do as he asked. He couldn't calm down. He couldn't stop the rush of adrenalin coursing through his veins. His heart felt like it was ready to burst.

 _Now there was blood… blood everywhere… and it was on his hands and in his hair… and the floor was slippy with it… dark, sticky, red blood…_

"Spencer, listen to me, listen to my voice…" he heard Derek say, but the voice was distant, almost as though he was miles away.

It was dark now. Very dark…

 _Dirt. The smell of overturned earth filled his nostrils, that musty, almost metallic scent. But there was another smell too… and maggots and flies… and the stink made his stomach turn and a fresh flood of bile rise up in his throat… and he was vomiting again…_

"What's happening in here?!" asked a different woman's voice, one that he was sure he didn't like. Dr Robbins.

"He's having a panic attack or something!" answered the woman he now knew to be Jennifer, "We can't get him to calm down."

"Shhh… shh… easy kid" he heard Derek say, a large hand on the middle of his chest, "Just try to slow your breathing… He just started hyperventilating… I can't seem to get through to him."

"I think it's a flashback" explained Jennifer.

"Okay, Spencer" said Dr Robbins, and then there were gloved fingers on his wrist, "Can you try to take slow breaths for me, just focus on me, listen to my voice and try to breathe with me, okay?" Then her voice was a little more distant. She was obviously talking to someone else. "2mg..." she said, "Make sure you mark it on his chart."

"Does he really need that?" he heard Derek ask, followed by the sound of the IV stand being moved and the 'click' of something plastic being opened, "Shouldn't we just try to talk him out of it? Just keep talking to him?"

"It's just a light sedation" answered the doctor, "Just to calm him down. He'll just be a little dozy. We need to take him to ophthalmology anyway, and I think he might do better this way. The tests can be a bit… distressing."

"You're gonna find out if he can see?" asked Derek.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Thank you so much to my lovely reviwers (Dextolan, fishtrek, Cherubim, Pembie, Walkthepathofdaydreams, spxxxxx, JessicaRae95, and tannerose5 – wow, that's a much longer list than normal!) Thank you so much for all the support! Have I told you all lately that I love you? haha!**

 **Really sorry for the delay on this latest chapter. I've had a busy and stressful few weeks. Hope you like this one (even if my Garcia isn't quite right).**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

" _It's just a light sedation" answered the doctor, "Just to calm him down. He'll just be a little dozy. We need to take him to ophthalmology anyway, and I think he might do better this way. The tests can be a bit… distressing."_

" _You're gonna find out if he can see?" asked Derek._

* * *

"Hey Garcia, talk to me" answered Hotch, as he made his way down the stairs in the local police station, Rossi and Prentiss following close behind. He nodded for them to go on ahead. They were headed to the SUVs outside.

"Okay, get this… The house we found that sweet little munchkin in? Well, William Reid bought it from the Jacob's brothers' father! That's why that house showed up as part of our original search. But that's not all! William Reid got the Jacob's brothers off for a whole string of misdemeanours. His name's all over their rap sheets… traffic offences, DUIs, you name it. He's their scuzzball lawyer of choice."

"So why hasn't he shown his face now that we have the Jacobs in custody?" asked Hotch, "Neither of them even mentioned him when they were offered a public defender."

"Well, that's where things get interesting" she replied, "See, I can't find any trace of good ol' Billy Boy for about 2 years… It's like he fell off the face of the earth, or maybe just crawled back under whatever stone he crawled out of. Whatever the case, he hasn't made a TV ad, put up a billboard, or even so much as updated a flyer since about 2015… He's just gone… like Keyser Söze…"

"No missing person's report?" asked Hotch.

"If a man like William Reid went missing, do you think you'd want him back?" she quipped, "I'd say good riddens!"

"Good point" he said, with a little snort. He definitely didn't blame Diana for failing to file a report.

"His credit card is out of action, and his bank account hasn't been touched" she continued, "If I had to put my money on it, I'd say we're looking for a dead man."

"I think you might be right" said Hotch, "What's the likelihood that the Jacobs' and he had a falling out? Maybe they didn't want to pay their bill? Or maybe they went too far for even a man like Reid to want to defend them?"

"No honour among murderers, huh? … I mean, what's the world coming to when you can't trust a couple of psychopaths not to kill their lawyer?"

"Indeed" he said, with a little smirk. He wasn't going to shed any tears over someone like William Reid, that was for sure.

"Ooh!" she exclaimed, and there was the audible sound of clicking as she opened the email, "I just got the coroner's report on Diana Reid… Now, what _did_ momma bear die of, I hear you ask?"

* * *

"Okay, Spencer" said Dr Gomez, looking up briefly at Morgan to tell him to hold the boy steady, "I'm going to take the bandage off now… and I want you to keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them… Can you do that for me?"

Spencer nodded a little groggily. His head felt funny, like everything was happening in slow motion. It was almost like he couldn't form his thoughts properly, or completely follow the conversations around him. He was catching snippets but his mind seemed to wander off at the most inopportune moments. He knew that Derek was there with him, but only because he kept hearing him talking to the doctors and nurses. He didn't understand what was being said, only that they were talking about him. Sometimes it felt like Derek was talking directly to him though, maybe whispering little reassurances in his ear from time to time? He couldn't be sure... For his own part, he couldn't seem to speak. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and like it would take an enormous effort to make a simple sentence… but then again, what did he even want to say? Had the doctor asked him something?

"Spencer!" the doctor repeated, giving his arm a shake, "Are you listening to me?"

"Spence?" said Morgan, giving his arm a little squeeze, "Can you answer the doctor? Can you understand what we're asking?"

"Uh… huh" he murmured unconvincingly. He couldn't quite hold his head up, or get his mouth to do what he wanted it to, but he _was_ able to hear what they were saying. _'Why do I feel so tingly?'_ he thought.

"Is he okay?" asked Morgan. He was sitting beside the boy on the examination table, helping to keep him upright, one arm around his back and the other holding his little arm by the bicep. Without the support, it was clear that he would have pitched forward and fallen flat on his face. He wasn't unconscious but he wasn't quite 'with it' either, almost like being extremely sleepy drunk.

"He's fine" said the doctor, "It's better this way. I've given him something for the pain … but I need him responsive for the tests, so I'm going to give him something to counteract the sedative a little… I need him to be able to answer."

"Okay" said Morgan, grimacing a little as he watched the doctor inject yet another drug into the boy's port. He didn't like the fact that they were so quick to resort to medications but he wasn't sure how well things would have gone without them. The boy was just so easily distressed.

They waited for a moment for the drugs to take effect, Morgan rubbing the boy's back comfortingly, until he felt him begin to stir and sit up a little better.

"Okay, little man?" asked Morgan, but all he got was a little nod in reply.

"Okay, Spencer, you ready?" asked the doctor, "I'm gonna take the bandages off now…"

"Uh… huh" Spencer murmured again, but he already sounded a bit more awake and a lot more nervous.

"Okay, here we go then, hold still…" she said, as she began to gently unwrap the boy's eyes. The blinds in the room were pulled down to block out the bright morning sunlight and they'd lowered the artificial lighting too.

Morgan watched as the gauze material was finally removed and set aside, revealing two white patches of cotton wool covering the child's eyes. The doctor removed these too. He couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief when he finally saw the boy's face unmarred by bandages and blood. He had perfectly normal looking eyelids with long eye-lashes. At least he didn't have any outward scarring. ' _Thank God for small mercies'_ Morgan thought to himself.

"You're doing good, kid" he said, stroking his hand up and down the boy's small arm. He could feel him trembling as he sat beside him.

The doctor looked up at the handsome FBI agent and gave a nervous smile. She was glad there was someone there for the boy from a moral support point of view. This next bit was always the hard part. It was very confronting, and even sedated, she could never predict what the child's reaction would be. It always made her a little anxious. She nodded to the nurse when the tray with the soiled bandages was taken away and replaced with cotton wool and an antiseptic solution in a little bowl. She leaned forward towards the boy again. "Okay, Spencer" she said, "Now, I'm going to use some cotton wool to clean your eyes…"

He pulled away with a little whimper and shook his head. "Please" he whispered, as he leaned towards Morgan, "Don't!"

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you…" she pressed, nodding at the nurse to step in and hold the boy's head still. He cried out in fear when he felt a person standing behind him and two hands suddenly holding either side of his face. Derek's hold on him tightened a little too. Why were they doing this to him?! Why was Derek letting them?!

"Nooo!" he cried, trying to shake his head free but the woman had a strong hold on him, "P-please?!"

"Hey, Spence, it's okay" soothed Morgan.

 _But it wasn't okay! They were going to hurt him! He was terrified!_

The doctor gently took the boy's chin in her hand and began to swab at his eyes. He clamped his eyes shut tighter and began to almost growl at her. "Nooooo!" he gritted out between clenched teeth, he didn't trust her! His heart was starting to race as memories began to crash back through his mind.

 _A hand holding a pair of scissors was coming towards him, trembling and shaking, and the blade was pointed at the corner of his eye. He pulled at the ropes around his wrists, frantically twisting his hands behind his back as he tried to free them. His wrists were raw and bloody and he knew that he couldn't escape but the pure panic was telling him otherwise. He had to try! Everything in his being was telling him to struggle. He tried to pull his head away but a hand was gripping his hair and holding it in place. He didn't want this! He couldn't let this happen!_

"Sweetheart, just stay still, it won't take long" said the doctor, as she placed her gloved fingers on his eyelid, "I just need to take a look…"

 _Suddenly he was screaming! The pain was beyond anything he'd ever experienced in his life and that was saying something. The scissors were being pulled out now but the pain didn't stop! It was like a live wire was sparking behind both eyes, sending shocks of pain that made his bones rattle. Everything was black but he could feel hot liquid streaming down his face. He knew it was blood because he could taste it. His whole body was shuddering now, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. 'Oh God! He was going to be sick!'_

In a sudden violent move, he threw himself forward off the bed, managing to free himself from both the nurse and Morgan's hold. He needed to throw up, but he gave a startled yelp of pain when he crashed to the floor, landing hard on his knees and sore wrist. He obviously hadn't realised how far off the ground he was.

"Woah! Woah! Spencer!" he heard Derek gasp, and a sharp intake of breath from both the doctor and the nurse.

Despite the shock and pain, he began scrambling across the floor until he hit a wheelie table and capsized it. A shower of metal instruments and trays rained down on top of him and he squealed in panic. In his frightened state, he thought someone was throwing things at him. He covered his head with one arm and crawled three-leggedly until he came to the wall. All the while, there were shouts of 'hey' and 'stop!' but he took no heed. All he knew was that he needed to get away! And now!

"Hey, hey, hey, kid, calm down" said Morgan, crouching down in front of him, "Shhh…shhh… it's okay…"

"Nooooo!" he cried out, flailing both hands in front of him to try to stop anyone from touching him.

"Spencer, shhh…" coaxed Morgan, "It's just me, it's Derek… C'mon, kid, listen to my voice, okay… Listen…"

 _He sat rocking back and forth on the mattress in the basement. He could hear angry shouting above in the living-room and stomping footsteps crossing back and forth across the floorboards. He was so frightened!_

 _He didn't know when that trapdoor would open again and what would happen when it did. He didn't even know how long it had been since it had last opened. It was the unpredictability that was the hardest to deal with. That, and not knowing what time of day it was. He didn't know when he'd last slept. Of course, it wasn't just because he was scared and disoriented, it was hard to sleep with the pain too. Sometimes, the pain wasn't too bad and he could almost forget about it, but other times it was like someone was jabbing a live electrical wire behind one or both of his eyes. Sometimes it jolted him awake. And his legs hurt too…_

 _He jumped violently when the trunk was dragged out of the way and he pulled his body back against the wall when he heard the door open..._

"Spencer?" said Morgan, "I'm gonna put my hand on your arm now, okay, little man?"

He stayed still this time when the man's hand landed on his arm. It was always worse when he fought back. _'Better just to stay still'_ he told himself, _'Just get it over with…'_

When Morgan saw that he didn't resist, he took the chance and pulled the boy into his lap on the floor. "Now, you put your ear here" he said, holding the boy's head flush against his chest and softly resting his chin on top of the trembling boy's head, "And listen to my heart, okay… Can you hear it?" The little body was stiff in his arms.

"Shhh" he soothed, as he smiled a little wistfully. He remembered his mom doing this with him when he'd started to have panic attacks as a kid. She hadn't understood then why it was happening but somehow she'd known exactly what to do to help.

"Just listen to my heart beating" he whispered to the boy, "Concentrate on that sound steady sound… drown everything else out."

Slowly Morgan's voice began to break through. Spencer had been expecting pain and angry shouted insults but instead all he could hear was soft soothing words of reassurance. What was happening? And what was that noise?

"Can you hear it kid?" asked Morgan, "Boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom…" He took the child's little hand and held it to his chest. "Just focus on that…"

The doctor looked down at Morgan and the child on the floor with a look of awe on her face. "You're so good with him" she said, "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He glanced up at her with a little half-smile. Maybe he'd answer that question later? He could feel the boy starting to relax in his arms, although whether that was because of him or through pure exhaustion, he couldn't be sure. Or maybe it was the drugs? Whatever it was, the child was clearly calming down. They sat there for what felt like a very long time as the boy's breathing began to even out. Morgan smiled in relief when little fingers began to creep tentatively up his chest and came to settle on his face.

"D-Derek?" said a scared little voice, not much more than a whisper, "Derek?"

"Yeah, kid" chuckled Morgan, "It's me."

"P-please?" he begged, eyes still clamped shut, "Don't let them… my eyes?"

"Oh kid!" groaned Morgan, "I won't let anyone hurt you, but the doctor _needs_ to take a quick look at them… If I promise I won't leave you, even for a moment, can you let her do that?"

"No!" said Spencer, shaking his head, "Don't want to! P-please don't make me!" He started gripping Morgan's shirt again, little knuckles going white, breathing picking up again...

"Okay, Spence, listen to me" said Morgan, taking the boy's chin gently in his hand to turn his face up towards his, "Let's think about this logically, okay? Cause I know you're a smart kid, right? So, let's talk it through?"

Spencer furrowed his brow, as though in deep thought, before giving a reluctant nod.

"Okay, so, you're scared?" asked Morgan.

The boy let out a little sob and nodded his head.

"So, what are you scared of?" he asked, "That it's gonna hurt… or something else? The doctor?"

Spencer just nodded. He had no idea how to put it all into words. He was frightened that opening his eyes would bring the pain again, a pain that had only just died down over the last couple of months. He didn't think he could live with that kind of pain ever again. He would rather die. But more than that, he was scared of the finality of it all. The fact that opening his eyes would mean acknowledging that he was really blind and that nothing was going to bring his vision back. Some part of him was still hoping for a miracle cure. And then there were the doctors! He was terrified of them, a fear instilled in him by his mother. What if they did what she said they would?! What if…

"The way I see it, Spence, you have two choices" said Morgan, "You can say 'no' and we'll go back to your room and nothing will change… OR… You can say 'yes', and the doctor will take a look at your eyes. If we do that then there are three things that could happen…"

Spencer nodded to show that he was following.

"So, number one, you open your eyes and nothing happens at all. You'll still be blind but we'll know that you don't have any pain, and we can get going on getting you the support you need to learn how to do things without your sight."

Spencer let out a little sob and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He didn't want that to be the what happened.

"Two, you open your eyes, and you still can't see, but it really hurts? Well… then, you know what? Dr Gomez here will figure out a way to make it not hurt, and then we'll do the same thing we were gonna do with the first outcome… Okay? You'll learn braille, and we'll figure out a way for you to get around, whether that's using a cane or… maybe we'll even get you a guide dog?"

"A-and… and three?" asked Spencer.

"Three" smiled Morgan, with a hopeful little glance at the doctor who seemed to be getting everything ready for the exam again, "You open your eyes, and maybe you can see?"

"I won't" said Spencer, shaking his head sadly, "My optic nerves are severed. The chances of me being able to see are almost zero." He'd read enough about human anatomy to know that. The image of the human eye was seared into his memory and he'd tortured himself with it for months on end. If his optic nerve was really cut, then he definitely wouldn't be able to see.

The doctor spun round with wide eyes and glanced at Morgan as he sat on the floor. She mouthed the words _'optic nerve'_ in a way that said _'How does he know those words?! He's only a little boy!'_ Morgan gave a little nod in a way that said _'Oh, I know!'_ He really wasn't that surprised.

"That's why we need to…" Morgan began.

"Actually" said Dr Gomez, as she rolled a wheelie stool over to sit close to them, "Your optic nerves aren't severed, Spencer."

She'd decided to speak to the child as though he was a lot older. His level of intelligence and comprehension was clearly well above average so she thought she should interact with him accordingly. She saw by the way he tilted his head at her that he appreciated the change in approach.

"The nerves are damaged" she continued, "So, I think the likelihood of you having normal vision is quite low, but you might have some level of impaired vision. If that's the case, then there are things we can do."

"R-really?" asked Spencer, "I…I could see?"

"Maybe" said the doctor, "But, Spencer, I don't want to get your hopes up, okay? There are lots of levels of vision, it's not a binary thing, not just blind or sighted. You could have very limited vision. We won't know, until we take a look… Okay?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment. The thought of having some level of vision was very appealing. "Okay" he said, almost inaudibly.

"Okay?!" exclaimed Morgan.

"Okay…" he repeated, "…but only if you can stay."

"Of course!" answered the doctor, "Derek will stay with you the whole time. I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"Okay, I'm gonna lift you onto the bed" said Morgan. Spencer nodded and allowed himself to be hoisted up and carried across the room. Safely deposited on the side of the bed, he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Morgan take his hand again.

"Okey dokey" said Dr Gomez, pulling her stool up to sit in front of the boy, "So, Spencer… I want you to open your eyes really slowly. Take as long as you need to... I've turned the light down low so it won't hurt your eyes."

"I gotcha" said Morgan, hugging him towards him a little, "I gotcha kid, no matter what…"

He gave a pained sigh and clenched his teeth as he began to flutter his eyelids open. Immediately, he looked like he was in pain. After a few failed attempts, he managed to open them fully. Big hazel eyes darted from side to side as his breathing picked up and he began hyperventilating.

"What do you see, pretty boy?" asked Morgan, "Can you see anything?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Okaaaaayy….. So, I'm really sorry for the mahooooosive delay on this chapter. I've been up to my eyes with 'life-stuff' in the past few weeks and also suffering serious writer's block. Apologies if this is a bit clunky. I thought it was better to get something out than nothing, but don't hate me if it's crap… (I apologise in advance)**

 **Thanks again to you lovely lovely folk who took the time to review the last chapter! (walkthepathofdaydreams, Cherubim22, tannerose5, fishtrek, Dextolan, Pembie, spxxxxx, Beachgirl25, vickysnape, JessicaRae95, and Tyalieva – hope I didn't miss anyone!) and all of you who have followed as well! I really appreciate the support! Can't believe how many people are reading this now!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

" _What do you see, pretty boy?" asked Morgan, "Can you see anything?"_

* * *

Morgan sighed heavily and scrubbed at his face with his hands as he leaned against the wall in the hallway. He was utterly exhausted. The tension of the last few days was weighing heavily on his shoulders, and if he was honest with himself, he was feeling very close to tears. Of course, he wasn't going to cry... Certainly, not here in the middle of the corridor in plain view of all the hospital staff! He had an image to maintain, after all. Men like him were not supposed to cry! He'd come in here wearing a Kevlar vest, for Christ sake, with 'FBI' written on the front! It wouldn't do the Bureau's reputation much good if one of its toughest looking agents was seen crying like a little girl… Even if that's exactly what he felt like doing…

Just then, a nurse emerged from Spencer's hospital room and gave him a sad little smile. "He's sleeping" she said, as she pumped some hand sanitiser onto her hands and rubbed them together, "The doctor gave him something to help him sleep… It's been a hard day for the little guy, huh?"

He nodded grimly and glanced through the doorway. He could see the child lying on the bed, sheets draped over him, and his teddy bear tucked under his arm. Even in his sleep, he looked distressed. His cheeks were tear-stained and his eyes looked cried out and puffy.

"That's an understatement" he replied sarcastically, "Poor kid just can't catch a break."

"He'll adjust" she said, gazing back into the room for a moment before turning back to the handsome agent, "They're more resilient than we give them credit for, y'know? …Much more than us adults... _They_ bounce back, they're able to learn… He'll be okay."

"I hope so…" he said, with a tone that said he was unconvinced, "It's a lot to come to terms with… and he's all on his own." He couldn't imagine how the kid must be feeling right now. "I mean, what's gonna happen to him now?" he asked, not expecting an answer, "Where's he gonna go?"

"CPS will be here a little later" she supplied with a shrug, "He'll have to do rehab here for a while, but after that, I'm sure they'll find him somewhere… A centre for the blind or something… They have specialist facilities for children with disabilities… I'm sure he'll be well taken care of… Don't worry."

"Yeah… right…" he began, but he was interrupted as his phone began to ring. He gave the nurse an apologetic look before fishing his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the name on the screen and then motioned that he needed to take the call. It was Garcia.

The nurse gave him a flirty little smile and then headed off down the hallway. Morgan watched her go as he answered the call. He wondered at her blasé attitude. Foster care wasn't exactly fool-proof and the likelihood of finding a decent place for a child with disabilities was even lower. The odds were stacked against the poor kid from the start and he shuddered to think where Spencer might end up.

"Hey there, Princess" he said, smiling wearily down the phone, "You have no idea how much I need to hear your voice right now." What he really wanted was to go home and curl up on the couch with his wife and son, and forget that horrible things like these happen every day. "You have no idea the kind of day I've had!"

"Don't you 'Princess' me!" scolded Garcia, "I've been trying to call you for the last couple of hours! You had me so worried! Didn't you get my messages?!"

"Uh?!" he replied, glancing at the screen and seeing the multitude of notifications. He put the speaker back to his ear and grimaced as he spoke. "Damn, Baby Girl, I'm sorry… Guess I didn't have service" he explained, "I just got back from the ENT unit, it was down in the basement. Kid was having tests…"

"Tests? What kind of tests?" she asked, her voice softening at the mention of the injured child.

"They uh… They thought maybe he'd have some limited vision… but…"

"I'm guessing he doesn't?" she sighed, picking up on the obvious disappointment in her husband's tone, "You… you don't sound like a man who got good news?"

"Well…" he sighed, "He has light perception… So, I mean… he can tell the difference between night and day, so I guess that's good… It aint much, but it's something."

He blew out a big breath and shook his head. The kid's pained little face passed through his mind. Those big brown eyes, so empty and unseeing…

"But he can't see?" she asked, her voice catching a little with emotion.

"No" he answered sadly, "Poor kid's blind… And he's not taking it very well… I think he'd been hoping for a miracle."

"Oh, that poor baby" she said with a heavy sigh.

The thought that someone could do something so terrible to a child had her reaching for the framed photo of baby Hank on her desk. She held it to her chest and sent a silent prayer of thanks to all that was good in the world that her own little boy was safe. She'd 'facetimed' with Derek's mom at lunchtime and spent twenty minutes making funny faces and 'oohing' and 'aahing' at Hank's latest finger-painting masterpiece. She also had it on good authority that 'Riley at playgroup' was a 'poo poo head'. Her son's world was full of love and happiness and bright primary colours. How different was the world that little Spencer inhabited?! She glanced back at her screen and frowned at the terrified looking child in the photos Derek had sent her. Even cleaned up and without the bandages around his eyes, he was such a pitiful sight. Her heart went out to him.

"Yeah… poor kid" agreed Morgan. He decided not to tell her that the boy was also experiencing nerve pain. Life really hadn't been kind as far as Spencer was concerned.

"And they're sure there's nothing they can do about it?" she asked, "They can't fix it? …Please, Derek, tell me they can do something to help him? Surely there's surgery or some kind of medication… I mean, maybe I can pull in some contacts in the medical field and see if they can get him a second opinion…"

Her fingers were already flying over her keyboard. Audible clicking could be heard as she pulled up names of leading ophthalmologists and details of stem cell research in other countries.

"I… I don't think that's gonna help" he answered honestly, "Not from what the tests showed today."

"Derek" she pleaded, "Please, just tell me that that little angel doesn't have to go through the rest of his life like this…"

"I wish I could" he replied, "I really wish I could, Baby Girl… but the doctors said there's no way to fix the damage. Even with the best surgeons and all the money in the world, they couldn't do anything. What's done is done!"

"Oh… that just makes me so… I can't even…" she started to say, the anger and frustration apparent in her voice. Cases involving children always got to her more than any others. "Has he told you who did it?" she asked finally, "I mean… has he said it was his father?"

"I've hardly got him to talk to me" he answered truthfully, "He's too traumatised right now and the doctors don't want us pressuring him into talking about it… Not before he has a full psych consultation… Someone's coming to see him this evening."

"Oooh… We might not be able to wait that long" she grimaced, "Hotch is having to fight with the powers that be to keep us here as it is…"

"Wait, what?!" he asked, glancing back through the door at the small child in the bed. "We still haven't found Adrianna… and what about Spencer?! We can't just leave when there's a murderer still out there?! This bastard killed the kid's mom… kept him tied up in that basement?! What if he comes back to finish the job?!"

"That's what I was trying to call you about earlier!" she explained, "Diana Reid died of natural causes… Wilson's Disease."

"So, it wasn't murder?" he asked incredulously.

"Apparently not" she replied, "Coroner's report came back to say she died from a massive brain haemorrhage but there was no sign of trauma… With Wilson's Disease you build up too much copper in your bloodstream"

"Copper?" he repeated, "Like, copper copper? Like, the metal?"

"Yes, Derek" she replied, "Copper… like that orangey, greeney metal…"

"Well… um… are you supposed to have copper in your blood" he asked, "I mean… Is that… _normal_?"

"Yeah, I wondered about that too…" she answered, "But apparently, the liver is meant to filter it out… But with Wilson's Disease, if you have too much, it starts to damage all your internal organs, and if it gets into your brain then you can go completely crazy. Start hallucinating… seeing things that aren't there, hearing voices… A lot of people with Wilson's Disease get misdiagnosed as Schizophrenic."

"So, the kid's mom was just sick" he said, rubbing his face a little wearily, "I mean, physically sick… Kind of like her body was poisoning her?"

"Well, yeah" she answered, "I mean… and it got bad enough for it to kill her."

"But what about the ligature marks on her wrists?" he asked, "Those were obvious rope burns…You're not telling me some disease caused those?"

"No… well, they think someone may have tied her up" she answered, "But whoever it was didn't cause her death, and there was no sign of rape. She didn't even have any noticeable bruises…"

"But someone still tied her up" he reasoned, "So, maybe she was too medicated to put up a fight?"

"Maybe" said Garcia, "Or maybe some kind of consensual bondage thing?"

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of anyone wanting to sleep with the woman they'd found in that house. She clearly hadn't washed in a very long time and her clothes hadn't been changed either. And aside from that, her brown cardigan and floral blouse didn't exactly suggest a very adventurous sex life.

"You never know" she said.

"With a child tied up in the basement?!" he scoffed, "And a woman that looked… and _smelled_ like that?!"

"Personal hygiene, or lack thereof, is not a deal-breaker for some people" she sighed, "Mores the pity"

"Somehow I doubt it" he said.

"It's always the quiet ones, Derek" she said in a teasing tone of voice.

"So, we don't have a case?" he grumbled, a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach, "I mean… if it wasn't a homicide, then I guess we don't have a case?"

While he was relieved to know that the boy's mother wasn't a murder victim, the thought of having to pack up and walk away from the child made him feel uneasy. He wanted more time to sort things out. He needed more time.

"Well, that's why you need to get that gorgeous little boy talking!" she said, "And, quick smart, Derek, because we need to know where that deadbeat father of his has disappeared to… and even more important, if we can tie him to the Jacobs in any way… Anything he can give us so we can build a case."

* * *

"I've never known Morgan to get so… _involved_ with a victim before" said JJ, as she made her way carefully around a stack of newspapers and stepped over crime-scene tape, "Do you think he's getting in over his head?"

Hotch had sent the rest of the team back to the house where Spencer and his mother had been found. He wanted them to have another look around and try to build a profile on William Reid. Something about this whole thing just wasn't sitting right with him, no matter what the coroner said. At a glance, it was clear that Forensics had vacated the premises in a hurry, downing tools and leaving the investigation half completed. They'd obviously been informed that the death was no longer being treated as a murder and no doubt a decision had been made not to waste resources.

"I've seen a change in him since Hank was born" answered Prentiss. She was sifting through a pile of letters on the seat of a wooden chair, white latex gloves on her hands, opening unopened letters and setting them aside when they proved to be of no importance.

"He's a father now" agreed Rossi, "It's difficult not to draw comparisons between someone else's child and your own…" He was looking at the photos in the hallway again. The level of rage displayed here was telling. Someone had scored each of the pictures with a knife, removing the face of the man entirely and scratching through the faces of the woman and boy. The anger was clearly directed more towards the father of the family than any other member. He wondered if Diana had done this in a psychotic rage. "It's hard not to get over-invested when you feel a bond with the victim…" he added, "…and for whatever reason, the child feels safe with Morgan. I don't think it's a bad thing if it's managed right."

"Yeah, I mean, we've all been there" said Prentiss, "There's a few people I check in on from time to time… Some of them just… I dunno, strike a chord?"

"I'm sure Morgan knows what he's doing" said Rossi, as he headed towards the open trapdoor, "This isn't his first rodeo."

"Yeah… I… I guess, I'm just worried" sighed JJ, "It's just… I noticed how attached that poor little boy is getting to him. He would hardly let go of Morgan's shirt… I mean, what's going to happen when we have to leave?"

"He'll be okay" said Rossi, as he began to make his way down the stairs, flashlight in his hand.

"I hope so" said JJ.

Rossi got to the bottom of the stairs and grimaced at the renewed sight of where the poor boy had been kept all that time. It wasn't fit for a dog, never mind a child! The roof was too low for any adult to properly stand up, and the walls were basically just mud, complete with roots from plants and lumps of stone. The space had simply been carved out of the earth under the house. He shuddered to think how cold the place must have been at night time.

He trailed his flashlight along the walls and then onto the floor to check for obstacles before making his way slowly over to the boy's makeshift bed. It was a very old mattress that had all but disintegrated, what with the mould and the wetness of the earth it was sitting on. He crouched down beside it and put his hand out to touch the material.

"Jesus, kid!" he sighed, as he felt the dampness under the palm of his hand, "How the hell did you sleep down here all this time?!"

He felt a surge of anger when his eyes fell on the discarded ankle restraint. It was like something you'd see in a slave movie, old, and made out of rusty iron. How painful it must have been to wear!

He made a decision then and there that he would speak to Strauss himself if he had to! The BAU team were not going anywhere until they'd apprehended the cruel son of a bitch that had done this! Not if he had anything to do with it!

"Hey, Rossi?!" shouted Prentiss from upstairs, "We good to go?!"

"Yeah" he called out, as he went to stand up again.

He figured they'd probably got all they could from the house. Nothing had jumped out at them, especially since Diana seemed to have removed any trace of William from the house. In all the chaos and the clutter upstairs, there wasn't a single item of clothing belonging to the man, or a letter in his name, or even so much as a razor blade in the bathroom. It was like he'd never been there. The only evidence that he'd ever been part of the family were the damaged photographs on the wall… and he'd been all but obliterated. Perhaps that was a clue in itself?

As he got to his feet, he noticed something sticking out from under the mattress. It looked like the corner of a hard-backed notebook. The kind with lined paper that some people use as personal diaries. He crouched down again and managed to ease it out from under the mattress.

"Rossi?!" called JJ.

"Just a minute!" he replied, as he flipped open the front cover.

Inside were pages and pages of some sort of language that he didn't recognise, made up of symbols and shapes, rather than English language letters. It was handwritten and printed in neat blue ink. Was it some sort of hieroglyphic language?

"I found something!" he shouted, as he got to his feet and put the book under his arm, "Think we might need to give Garcia a call."

 **AN: Also, please (pretty please) don't hate me for making Spencer blind! (grimaces nervously)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Oh dear… well, I've had a busy few months and pretty much all my attempts to find time to write have been thwarted. I really didn't mean to leave such a big gap between chapters. Not 100% happy with this chapter…. But hey ho… Something is better than nothing, right?**

 **Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, who I sincerely hope haven't given up on me at this stage… All I can say is sorry! (guilty face)**

 **Please review. It'll motivate me to write the next one sooner rather than later…**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Morgan jumped up when he heard a 'rat-a-tat-tat' on the wooden frame of the hospital room door. A stern looking, grey-haired woman was hovering just outside the door. It took only one glance for the profiler to know who she was, or rather _what_ she was: a case-worker from CPS. He'd seen enough of them to know. They always looked overworked and stressed, and just a day or two shy of jacking the job in altogether. The name badge hanging around her neck also helped, CPS emblem clearly visible.

"Agent Derek Morgan" he said, as he approached and offered his hand, "Nurse Julie told me you'd be here this afternoon."

They'd said that a caseworker from CPS would be calling by to assess the child and start to put a plan of action in place for when the hospital discharged him. He was to be transferred to a state-run rehabilitation facility for children with physical disabilities sometime in the next few days. Morgan had insisted on staying to meet with the woman. For some reason, the hospital had allowed it.

"Agent?" she asked, leaving his hand hanging there, "Is there a reason you're here?"

"FBI" he explained, "We were searching a house for a missing girl, but we found Spencer instead."

"Ah yes" she said as she finally took his hand and gave him a rather disappointing handshake. It was as though all the muscles in her hand had disappeared in that instant. "I think I read that in the boy's case file. Blinded and kept in a basement, if I remember correctly."

Morgan winced a little at the bluntness of the statement but gave a little nod.

"I believe you've been keeping a vigil since he was brought in?" she asked, a tone of suspicion to her voice, "Is that normal for the FBI? Surely, you have more important things to be doing than playing nurse maid?"

"The case is ongoing" replied Morgan, "Until it's fully resolved we can't be sure that Spencer's safe." He knew he was bending the truth a little, but saying ' _I just care about the kid'_ might have lost him some credibility.

"You think someone might be looking for him?" she asked, looking a little more concerned, "That he's in danger?"

"Can't say for sure either way" he replied, "I'm staying here with him till we know what's what."

"I see" she said, with a smile that lasted all of two seconds, "I'm Alice Smiley… I'll be the boy's caseworker for the foreseeable."

Morgan couldn't help thinking that her name was somewhat misleading. She had one of those little pinched mouths that looked like she rarely smiled. Not exactly the kind of face that would put a child at ease, but then Spencer wouldn't know either way, he reflected sadly.

"Good to meet you" he said, trying his best to ingratiate himself with his trademark smile. It worked on the majority of women, and some men, but it didn't seem to be working on her. She seemed decidedly unimpressed.

"That the boy?" she asked, leaning around him to view the child in the bed.

"Yeah, that's Spencer" he replied, emphasising his name, given that she seemed determined not to use it, "He's asleep right now. They have him sedated so I don't think you'll be able to speak to him." He frowned a little as he watched her glance at the boy with what seemed like little or no interest.

"I don't think he'll be waking up for another couple of hours" he continued, "Maybe you could come back then, or send someone back tomorrow? When he's awake?"

"That's okay" said Miss Smiley, with a curt little shake of the head, "I don't really need to speak to him."

"You don't?" asked Morgan, a look of confusion on his face.

"Not really" she answered, shuffling over to the end of Spencer's bed and setting her stack of folders down on the mattress. She checked her phone and gave a huff of annoyance at whatever was on the screen before stuffing it back in her bag. She seemed a little harassed.

"But… surely you need to talk to Spencer?" asked Morgan, "To find out what he needs, what's best for him?"

She gave a little huff of amusement, still not really paying attention to the child in the bed. "It's not like the kids get to pick and choose where they go…" she muttered, "Especially not blind ones."

Morgan didn't know what to say. The lack of empathy was astounding. He'd dealt with numerous CPS representatives over the years, but no-one had been as uncaring as this. The vast majority of case workers he'd come across were kind and compassionate people, who had a very hard job to do, but who never stopped caring about the children. What was this woman's problem?!

"He's completely blind, is he?" she asked, unclipping Spencer's chart from the end of his bed and beginning to quickly scan-read.

"Yeah, he's got nerve damage at the back of both eyes" answered Morgan, "Poor kid…"

She glanced up at the agent for a moment with a look that said, 'Why are you taking such an interest in this child?' But she didn't ask the question. She just went back to reading Spencer's notes, running a finger down the lines of text and handwritten annotations. Once finished, she made a sharp 'mmm-hm!' noise, before clipping it back into place.

"I just need hospital admin to give me a timeline" she said, "I'll need to organise an emergency placement…"

"But… they said he'd go to rehab first?" he said, hoping that the child wouldn't have to go with this witch for at least a little while longer.

"That's right" she said, "For a couple of weeks at least… Then we'll have to find him somewhere more permanent…"

"Any idea where he'll go?" asked Morgan, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, "I mean, will he be sent to stay with a family… or…"

"I'd say it's more likely he'll go to a group home" she said, pulling a form out of the folder and then flipping it closed, "Getting a family to take him would be next to impossible, with his history, and his… his disability. Too much baggage. Kids like this aren't exactly the poster children for parents wanting to foster…"

Just then, her phone rang and she rolled her eyes before pulling it out of her bag. "Sorry, I have to take this…"

Morgan made a 'go ahead' motion and stepped back towards the bed to give some semblance of privacy.

"Yes?!" she snapped into the phone, "Yes, I'm getting to it. He's next on my list… Twenty minutes, I'm just leaving now."

She cancelled the call and slipped the phone back in her bag with a groan of frustration. Turning back to Morgan, she continued, "We'll find him someplace… although God knows, there aren't many spots available right now. Not a lot of places will take on a blind child."

"Aren't there any specialist facilities for kids with disabilities?" he ventured, "I mean, I think Spencer's gonna need a lot of support… He needs somewhere where they know how to help him."

She gave a sad little smirk.

"We'd all like that" she said, picking her things up and heading towards the door, a quick glance at her watch making it clear that she didn't have time for anymore chit chat "…but then _I'd_ like a vacation in the Bahamas. We don't always get what we want, do we?"

"I guess not" he said, feeling dejected.

"I have to go now" she said, as she headed out the door, "I'm leaving this form at the nurse's station, but I'll be back in a few days to get his transfer in order." With that, she was gone…

Morgan turned to look at the little boy in the bed. He was even more worried about him now than he had been earlier. How would a child that had been isolated for so long deal with being thrown into a place as chaotic as a group home? A place where he was just another child to be passed from pillar to post? With no-one to support him through this incredibly difficult transition? No-one to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be alright? How would he ever recover if he wasn't shown the love and kindness that he deserved?

* * *

"Rossi?" answered Morgan, as he got up from the chair beside Spencer's bed and walked towards the door. He glanced quickly at the small body in the bed to make sure he hadn't woken him, before making his way out to the hallway. "You got something, man?"

"Maybe" said Rossi.

"Maybe?" repeated Morgan. That didn't sound too promising.

"We found a notebook" explained Rossi, "Hidden under the kid's mattress... It's from the Jacobs' autoshop; has their shop logo printed inside the front cover. Looks like the kid was using it as a colouring book."

"And that helps us, how?" asked Morgan, "I mean, if it's just a colouring book?"

"Well, it looks like it's more than a colouring book…" said Rossi, "It has lists of payments made to William Reid for some _pretty_ big numbers… A hell of a lot more than even a flashy lawyer would make…"

"How much we talking?" asked the younger agent.

"Couple a mil every few months" replied the Italian, "In cash, by the looks of it."

"And he had his wife and kid living in a shithole like that?!" growled Morgan, as an image of Spencer's home flashed through his mind, "What the hell did he do with the money?!"

"Well, that's where that lovely wife of yours comes in" said Rossi, "Garcia had a look at William Reid's bank accounts from before he went off the grid. Looks like Billy Boy had a bit of a gambling problem. Maxed out every credit card he had."

"So, all that money? Just gone on what? Horses?!" he asked, his blood beginning to boil. This man had been squandering millions of dollars while his wife and child lived in squalor! How could someone do that to their own flesh and blood?!

"Horses, boxing, basketball, baseball... you name it… Pretty much any sport you can think of..." answered Rossi, "Looks like he might have been more to the Jacobs brothers than just their lawyer…"

"Does it say in the notebook what the payments were for?" queried Morgan.

"No, just dates and the amount he was paid" he replied.

"So, he could have been helping them to kidnap the girls?" ventured Morgan, "Or helping them find places to take them?"

"Well, I doubt it was for getting them off parking fines" scoffed Rossi, "But I think it's safe to say that it puts William Reid back in the frame. I think we're looking at an accomplice."

"I knew it!" answered Morgan, "I thought it was too big a coincidence! There had to be a connection… Like, we just _happened_ to stumble across a dead body in that house, and the kid tied up in the basement… I don't think so! I told Hotch that it stinks!"

"Yeah, well, it's still a pretty big leap, Morgan… I mean, I'm not saying William Reid's not involved. We know he was their lawyer… but we can't prove his involvement… Not yet anyway… Not until we track him down. That's why we need to question the kid and see what he knows."

Morgan's stomach did a little flip. Spencer's father being an abusive bastard was bad enough. But what if Rossi was right? What if William Reid wasn't just the Jacobs' lawyer? What if he'd been involved with the abductions of all those little girls, and maybe even taken part in the killings?! He didn't want to have to tell Spencer that his old man was a psychopathic murderer too. How much could one little kid be expected to deal with?!

"Can you talk to him when he wakes up?" asked Rossi, "Or do you want JJ to come in again to help?"

"Uhhh… thing is... the kid's out of it right now" said Morgan, with a nervous glance in through the boy's doorway, "They got him doped up on some sort of sedative, so I don't know how soon I'll be able to talk to him... and to be honest, man, the kid's messed up bad enough as it is. He's in pain and he's scared out of his wits… For some reason he seems to trust me, but I don't know if I can get him to talk to me about anything that happened in that house. I think he'd go into a full-blown panic attack if I even tried to raise the subject with him."

"Morgan, I know you like the kid" answered Rossi, "And I know you wanna protect him. In an ideal world, I'd say to take your time with him, try to earn his trust before questioning him… but I don't think we have that luxury…"

"We getting called back to Quantico?" asked Morgan, a worried tone to his voice. He didn't want to leave Spencer so soon. Not when he'd promised to help him.

"We need to come up with something soon" said Rossi, "I've bought us some extra time with Strauss, but she's under pressure. If we can't find a tangible link, or a reason to believe that Adrianna Hernandez is still alive, then we're under orders to pack up and fly home in the next couple of days."

"What did Forensics say?" asked Morgan, "Did we get the report on the Jacobs' house?"

"There was blood" sighed the older agent, "It's a match for Adrianna, so we know she was held there, but they said the volume of blood that they found wasn't enough for her to have bled out. If she's dead, we're thinking they must have moved her somewhere else before they did it."

Neither of them needed to discuss the Jacobs' MO. One victim every six months, like clockwork. Always a girl between the ages of ten and twelve. The brothers were known for exsanguination, cutting their victim strategically so they bled out agonisingly slowly over about twelve hours. They'd film the final moments and send the video in an email to the victim's parents, but the body would never be found. Eleven abductions, ten bloody death scenes, but not a body to show for any of them… If they'd killed the girl in the house where they'd been arrested, the room would have looked like a bloodbath. The lack of blood was cause for hope. The fact that the parents hadn't received the video of their daughter's death only added to that.

"So, that means she could still be alive?" said Morgan, a little hopefully, "She could still be out there."

"She could" confirmed Rossi, "That's why we need to question Spencer. Right now, he's the only one who can help us with that notebook. We might be clutching at straws but it's all we have."

Morgan shook his head a little sadly. "And it really aint much" he sighed.

"Just try and find out what the kid knows" pleaded Rossi. He seemed tired.

"But I don't think he'll know much" argued Morgan, "I mean, he was kept in that basement for over a year, Rossi… and from what I've seen, it's not like the kid had a caring and sharing kind of relationship with his dad."

"The notebook was under _his_ bed, Morgan" the Italian reminded him, "He's the only one that knows why it was there… and right now, he's the only one who might be able to explain what's written in it. There's some kind of code in there that we can't understand."

"A code?" asked Morgan. This case was just getting weirder and weirder.

"Lots of little symbols" explained Rossi, "Kind of looks like hieroglyphics. I thought it might be total nonsense but apparently not. Garcia thinks it's some kind of cipher."

"She can't figure it out?" he asked, a little surprised.

"No, not yet" answered Rossi, "She's gonna get one of her techie 'code breaker' friends to take a look."

Morgan couldn't help giving a little smirk. Of course, Garcia would find out a way to break the code. He had no doubt.

"Kinda weird that it ended up with the kid" he said, "Don't you think? I mean, if someone's gone to the trouble of writing some 'unbreakable' code, then you have to assume that there's important information in there; something you don't want people reading… Would you just let your kid draw all over it?!"

"I don't know" said Rossi, "Maybe William didn't know he had it… or maybe he thought it was a good way of hiding it. That's why we need you to talk to Spencer about it."

"Uhh… I don't know…" said Morgan, sounding uneasy.

"Morgan, we _need_ to question him about it" reiterated Rossi, "Garcia is sending some screenshots to you now."

A beep sounded and he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. There was an email notification from Garcia. He put the phone back to his ear for a second, "Hang on…" he said, "I'll take a look".

Pulling the phone away from his ear again he quickly opened the email and clicked on the attachments. Sure enough, there were the promised screenshots showing a number of notebook pages. On each page were childish drawings of little stick people holding hands; the typical drawings of a pre-school child, scribbled in crayon. Underneath, however, was some kind of neatly written code. Rossi was right. It looked more like hieroglyphics than anything else, with lots of little shapes in neat lines of blue ink. He stared at it for a moment, wondering how two men as vile and rough as the Jacobs brothers could ever have come up with a code this sophisticated. Or William Reid for that matter?! The Jacobs were sociopathic sadists, whereas William Reid seemed more opportunistic than anything else… But nothing indicated above average intelligence. Something like this really didn't fit with the profile. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"We thinking the Jacobs wrote this?" he asked, "Or William Reid? I mean, I don't think any of them are smart enough for something like this…"

"I don't think so either" agreed Rossi, "But the kid might know who did."

Morgan stepped back to look into the room where Spencer was sleeping and felt a tug at his heartstrings. "I'll ask him as soon as he wakes up."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ohhhhkay… here we go. Next chapter.**

 **Thanks to everyone for the continued support! I really appreciate each and every one of you taking the time to let me know you're reading. Hope you like this one! :-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Morgan looked up from his phone. The boy seemed to finally be coming round, judging by the small whimpers and the jerky movements he'd been making for the last while. He couldn't be sure if the child was in pain or if he was having nightmares. Whatever it was, it was obviously making him restless. Morgan watched him for a moment longer, but when it became clear that he wasn't waking up, he turned his attention back to the text conversation he'd been having with Garcia.

He smiled at the photo of Hank she'd sent him. He was covered in flour and pink cake mix, a sticky mess all over his smiling face, and little pink hands holding a cupcake up at the camera. In the background he could see his own mother grinning from ear to ear. She had cake mix all over her apron and flour through her curly red hair. The kitchen looked like a cake had exploded all over it. It was fairly clear what had taken place. Like most grandparents, his mother was much more lax with Hank than she ever would have been with her own kids. Hank had clearly inherited the Morgan charm too, and had his grandmother wrapped firmly around his little (pink-icing covered) finger! He pretty much got whatever he wanted when Grandma Fran was around!

Morgan chuckled a little at Garcia's message _. "Doesn't look like he's missing us too much! xx"_

He was relieved to know that Hank was so happy. Sometimes he worried about the time that they spent away from him when they had to work, but he knew that his mom was doing a good job. He was endlessly grateful for the fact that she'd moved there to be close to them. What on earth he and Garcia would have done without all her support, he did not know.

He couldn't stop looking at the photo though. While it certainly made him happy to see his child so well cared for, something about it was kind of bittersweet… Somehow, it only highlighted even more how sad a life Spencer had led and looking at his own son made him feel… almost _guilty_?

After all, Hank's world was safe and secure, and full of fun with friends and family. He had two parents who loved him more than life itself, and extended family that would bend over backwards to make sure that he was happy and safe. Not to mention a whole team of FBI agents who thought of him as kin, and who would always have his back, no matter what. People who would literally kill for him. A boy like Hank would never have to experience the kind of pain and suffering that Spencer had endured. He would never be hurt by the hands of someone who was supposed to protect him. Morgan and Garcia's son would never have to find out that people could be anything but kind and loving, not while the BAU team had breath left in their bodies. But more than that, Hank Morgan would never really know just how lucky he was…

Morgan glanced from the photo to the fragile and deathly pale child lying in the bed. How could his heart not break for him? Even now, he could see the marks on his skinny little arms as they rested above the covers. Finger shaped bruises, deep and purple, marring his pure white skin. His blood boiled at the thought of someone handling any child so roughly, but especially one so small and weak as Spencer. A child so starved of affection and so obviously timid and gentle. What kind of monster would do that?!

He glanced again at the picture of his own son, smiling sadly when he noticed the roundness of his happy little face, and the soft chubbiness of his arms as he held the cupcake aloft. He looked the picture of health with big brown eyes shining in delight, and caramel coloured skin glowing in the midday sunlight. It would be hard to find a happier looking child, he reflected.

His gaze travelled back to the other boy's too-thin face, and he couldn't help giving a tired sigh. The child's complexion was almost grey from lack of sunlight and his cheeks were so sunken in. He looked like something half-starved, and oh so very tired. No eight-year-old boy deserved to look like this. An eighty-year-old maybe, weary of the world and bone-tired after years of hard graft, but not a child just at the start of his life! Nothing about this was right!

As he sat there, making comparisons between the two children, he felt himself getting more and more angry. The injustice of it all came crashing down on top of him.

' _Why is the world so unfair?!'_ he asked himself, ' _What did Spencer ever do to deserve something like this?!'_

"I'm sorry, kid" he said softly, as he leant over and patted the boy's rail-thin leg, "Things are gonna get better… Just hang in there."

It was then that the boy gave a particularly pained moan, followed by a gasp, and his eyes flew open.

In seconds, he'd gone from unconscious, to sitting bolt upright with a look of abject terror on his face.

"Spencer?" said Morgan, as he tried to put his hand on the boy's arm.

The child jumped at the contact and jerked his arm away with a sharp yelp. He scuttled up the bed, quickly bringing his knees up to his chest protectively, and scrunching himself into a little ball. His face hidden in his arms.

' _Oh right'_ Morgan scolded himself silently _, 'The kid's blind. You can't just go touching him out of nowhere!'_ He couldn't help shaking his head at himself. He'd have to be more careful where the child was concerned.

"Hey, Spence…" he soothed kindly, "I'm gonna touch your arm now, but don't be scared. It's just me, it's just Derek… You're okay."

This time when he touched him, the kid only startled slightly, and after a moment big hazel eyes peeked out from behind skinny little arms. Just for a second, it seemed like the boy could see. Big eyes staring up at him, glistening a little with unshed tears… but then the eyes wandered away again and stared vacantly around the room. He didn't seem quite with it.

"Hey, kid, listen" said Morgan, reaching for one of the boy's hands. He took hold of it and held it between both of his, wondering at how cold it was. "I know you're scared" he said, "…and you're probably wondering where you are… and everything's probably really fuzzy right now… But you gotta listen to me… Okay, man, can you do that?"

Spencer turned his gaze in the agent's direction again, but it was very obvious that he wasn't really looking at him. His eyes were unfocused and staring into the mid distance.

"That's good" said Morgan, sitting down on the chair beside the bed, "I've been worried about you, little man, you know that? It was a tough morning, huh?" He was using the soft kind of voice he usually reserved for Hank when he'd fallen and hurt himself, or when he'd had an 'accident' and wet the bed.

Spencer didn't answer. He just bit his bottom lip and dipped his head between his knees, no longer even pretending to look at the man beside him.

"I'm so sorry, Spence" said Morgan, giving the boy's hand a squeeze, "I really am. I was hoping the doctors would have better news for you. But it's gonna be okay, I promise you that. Okay? I don't want you to be scared… Lots of blind people live completely normal lives, and someone as smart as you are?! …Well, I have no doubt that you're gonna be just fine…"

The boy lifted his head a little and threw a look of disdain in Morgan's direction. He was obviously tired and emotionally drained, and everything about that look said, " _I'm not in the mood for your patronising platitudes about how 'things will get better'"_. Morgan had to fight the urge to chuckle. Not because it was funny, but because he was pleasantly surprised. It was good that the kid was angry. _Normal_. Who wouldn't be in Spencer's position?!

"Hey, I mean it!" argued the agent, still feeling the need to try to lift the kid's spirits, "There are all sorts of cool things you can do. It doesn't have to hold you back, Spence. Not if you don't let it."

The boy just clenched his jaw and nodded, returning his gaze to the bed. It was clear from his body language that he was close to snapping.

"And there are people who are gonna help you" said Morgan, eyeing the child a little warily, "You're gonna learn how to do everything you used to…"

With that, the boy gave an angry shake of his head before tugging his hand out of Morgan's grasp. Once free, he brought both hands up to tentatively feel around his eyes. He seemed surprised at first, and it took the profiler a moment to figure out what he was doing. He was obviously feeling for bandages. Having found none, he began to explore, tentatively, as though frightened by what he would find. Eyes closed, thin little fingers patted softly at his own puffy and swollen eyelids, and then he continued pressing delicately around the edges of his eye sockets. Pushing and prodding, he hissed in pain when he pressed the corner of his eye. He quickly pulled back and breathed heavily for a moment before trying again.

"Kid" said Morgan, "I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

He'd been told that there was still a lot of inflammation behind Spencer's eyes, probably due to low level infection. Nothing a round of antibiotics couldn't fix… but it didn't seem like a good idea to start poking at them either.

"Spence… I.." he began, reaching for Spencer's wrist.

"No!" snapped the boy, jolting a little when he felt Morgan's hand on his skin unannounced. He clearly hated being touched without warning. "Don't touch me! …My eyes, my body… I decide!" he said, determinedly pulling his wrist away from Morgan to resume his examinations, "Not you!"

"Okay" said Morgan, with a little nod, "Okay, kid, you do what you gotta do."

Who was he to argue with him? The kid had spent months, almost years, chained in a dark basement. He'd had absolutely no say in what happened to him. He'd been chained up, beaten, starved, and even blinded… and now, the hospital staff had drugged him multiple times to carry out medical procedures on him. Was it any wonder that he'd had enough?! Was it any surprise that he was getting angry and lashing out?!

The boy gave an angry little huff before his fingers began prodding again. This time he could see him biting his bottom lip against the pain.

Morgan sat watching the child a little sadly. The kid seemed to be mapping out every inch of his own face, tracing over it again and again with his fingertips. He supposed that it must be strange to be without that old blood-soaked bandage and actually able to touch his face again after so long. But how frustrating not to be able to just look in a mirror…

"There aren't any scars" he said, just in case that's what the kid was trying to figure out, "Your eyes look completely normal. You're a good-looking kid, Spence, you don't have to worry about that that."

The boy gave a little nod before resuming his self-examination, but Morgan couldn't help smiling when he saw some of the tension leave the boy's body. It was obviously something that had been weighing on the kid's mind for some time now. As though being blind wasn't bad enough, he'd been wondering if he'd been physically disfigured too.

"When are they coming for me?" came a small voice, breaking the profiler out of his thoughts. Hazel eyes were once again turned in his direction, blankly staring at him, with brows knit together in worry.

"When's who coming for you?" asked Morgan, a jolt of concern in his belly. Had Spencer heard the CPS woman and him talking?! Or was he worried about the Jacobs?

"The government" replied the boy in a quiet whisper, almost like he thought they were listening in.

"The government?" repeated Morgan, silently kicking himself for not making the woman step out of the room. What if the kid had heard her thoughtless comments about a blind kid's chances of finding a good home?! "Do you mean Child Services, Spence? Like CPS?"

The kid shook his head. "No, the _government_!" he hissed, "Mommy tried to hide us… She- she said they'd come and take me if anything happened to her… And…and she's gone now… and then you came… So…"

Morgan sighed. "You don't think I'd let anyone hurt you, do you, Spence?"

"No… but…" began the boy.

"Did your mommy think the government was going to do bad things to you?" asked the profiler, beginning to put two and two together. Diana Reid must have passed on her paranoid delusions to her small son. "Did she tell you they were gonna hurt you?"

The boy nodded solemnly and fisted his hands in his bedcovers. "She tried to hide us" he whispered miserably, "But it didn't work."

"What did she say they'd do?" asked Morgan.

Spencer hung his head and pursed his lips together tight. The shudder that went through his frail little body didn't go unnoticed.

"Spence" sighed Morgan, "Did you know that your mommy was sick?"

"Uh huh" answered Spencer, after a moment's silence, "Mommy had schizophrenia."

"Do you know what that is?" asked Morgan.

"Yeah" said the kid, chewing on his bottom lip, "She…um… she took medicine for it, but sometimes she wouldn't go and get the medicine because we didn't have enough money to pay the bills, and then she'd get really sick. Sometimes, she wouldn't know who I was. Sometimes she'd think I was someone else and… and she'd think I was hiding Spencer from her. I didn't like it when she was like that."

Morgan couldn't hide the sadness on his face. He hated to think of a child that young having to deal with something so scary.

"So, the thing is, Spence… Your mommy thought a lot of things that weren't true…" he said, wondering if he should broach the subject of it not being schizophrenia but thinking better of it for the moment. "So…" he continued, "She got things a little bit mixed up sometimes, like not knowing who you were… Sometimes that same sickness told her that people were out to get her when they really weren't. Kid, no-one from the government is coming for you… at least not like you're thinking."

Big hazel eyes stared at him in fear.

"There's a nice woman from CPS" continued Morgan, hoping that Miss Smiley would be nicer to the kid than she'd seemed on first meeting, "Do you know what CPS is?"

Spencer nodded miserably. "They take kids away from their parents" he answered, "When the home environment isn't thought safe… And… and they put them in places where they never get to see their families again…" He raised a hand again to wipe at an idle tear tracking down his cheek. "But… I don't have a family now, so it doesn't matter… I _guess_."

Morgan wondered if it might be the right time to ask him about his father but decided against it. The last time the man had even been mentioned, Spencer had gone into a full-on flashback and had to be sedated. He couldn't risk that now that they seemed to be making at least a little progress… but Spencer had said that he didn't have any family now? So was his father dead? Or had William Reid simply done a disappearing act? He filed that piece of information away for later.

"No, Spencer, listen…" he replied, "CPS is gonna find somewhere really cool for you to live, with other boys and girls… It'll be like having brothers and sisters! I think you'll like that, Spence. Don't you think it'd be fun to have people your own age to talk to?"

Spencer shook his head. "They won't like me" he said quietly.

"And why the hell not?!" asked Morgan, with a little chuckle, "You have to be one of the coolest kids I've ever met! You're smart, and you're kind, and you sure do know a lot of interesting stuff."

"I'm a freak" he replied, glumly shaking his head, "Just like my mommy."

"Oh sweetheart!" sighed Morgan, "You're not a freak! Why would you ever think that?!"

"My d-daddy said it all the time" he whispered, "I tried to be normal… but I couldn't… I'm… _'this'_."

"Hey" said Morgan, leaning forward and lightly patting the boy's knee, "Your dad was wrong, Spencer… You're a great kid! And I'd be so proud if you were my son."

Suddenly, big brown eyes were staring at him, sightlessly pleading with him. Hope shone in the boy's eyes for the first time. He actually gave a shy little smile.

"Y-you w-would?" he asked, stutteringly, eyes wide with wonder.

"Of course, I would" answered Morgan, failing to see the danger in those words, "I'd be shouting from the rooftops _'this is MY son, Spencer_!'"

"Your s-son?" the child repeated.

"Yeah!" laughed Morgan.

"So… can… can I…" Spencer asked, faltering shyly, "C-could I…"

"Could you what?" asked Morgan, smiling softly at the little boy. The praise seemed to have lit a bright light inside the kid and Morgan couldn't help reflecting on how sad that was. How was it that no-one had ever offered the child a simple compliment? How could such meagre words of praise mean so much to him?

"Could I come home with you?" blurted Spencer, "Do you really want to be my dad? ...I promise, I'll be good. I'll try to be good. I'll really try."

"Oh God, Spencer, I'm really sorry…" said Morgan, all the colour draining from his face. What had he just done?! "Uh, kid… I…" He didn't know how to answer that question without crushing him. "I… I didn't mean…"

Before he could explain, the child was drawing into himself. All light extinguished behind those hazel eyes of his. "It's okay" he said stiffly, pulling his knee away from Morgan's hand and turning his face away. It was clear he was trying not to cry.

"No… Spence" started Morgan, "I need to expl…"

"It doesn't matter" answered Spencer, talking bitterly through gritted teeth, "I didn't mean it anyway."

"But kid" said Morgan, "It's not that simple… It's not that I don't want…"

In that moment, he began to wonder what he really _did_ want. After all, what he'd said _was_ true. He would have been proud to call Spencer his son.

"I can't just take you home with me, Spencer" he tried to explain, "Things don't work that way."

"Can't I just go home then?" asked the boy, frantically blinking back his tears, "To my house?! I wanna go home! Why can't I go home?!" His little voice was hoarse with choked emotion.

"Home… like 'Home' home?" stammered Morgan, surprised at this new turn. Why would anyone ever want to return to that hellhole?! "You want to go home?! But Spence, you know there's no-one there to take care of you, buddy…"

"I can take care of myself!" yelled Spencer, a look of indignation on his face, tears flooding down his cheeks, "I looked after m-mommy for years. I can look after myself!"

"Oh, honey" he replied kindly, "I mean doing grown up stuff like cooking and cleaning, and making sure you have food to eat… You know, the stuff your mommy did…"

Although on reflection, that house didn't look like anyone had done any of those things for a very long time. And Spencer had made it abundantly clear that Diana Reid wasn't exactly the mom from the Brady Bunch.

"I did all those things" replied the child, an angry red colour rising in his cheeks, "I cooked for mommy and… and me… and I did the laundry… and I used to go to the store with mommy's security check money and get us coffee and pop tarts… I've been looking after myself for as long as I can remember! I'm more of a grown up than my mommy was!" His voice had been rising in pitch the longer he spoke, his throat tight with strangled tears. With a sudden burst of anger, he announced brokenly, "I can live by myself. I DON'T NEED ANYONE!" His chest was heaving in and out as he breathed heavily.

Morgan didn't know what to say. There were so many things wrong with what the kid had just said. He was only 8 years old and he'd been locked up for the last year and a half. Was he really trying to tell him that he'd been just 6 years old when he'd been caring for his sick mother?! A mother who was delusional at least part of the time and neglectful the rest? Surely that couldn't be true?!

"Spencer, everyone needs someone" Morgan told him softly.

"I don't… I'm used to it" he heard the child say quietly as he returned his head to lean against his arms. His little body seemed to slump exhaustedly. "I'm used to being alone" he seemed to almost sigh.

"Spencer" said Morgan, standing up and gently brushing the boy's hair back from his closed eyes. They were now puffy and red, and tears continued to leak out from under long lashes. "You shouldn't have to do any of those things" he explained, "Even if you're more than able to, you shouldn't have to do those things. It's not right that you should have to do them. You know that, right? I mean, other kids your age just get to be kids. They get to play and be silly. They get to have fun… They don't have to worry about cooking and cleaning, or taking care of someone else…"

He gazed down at the boy's tear-stained face, realising that he'd cried himself to sleep, and felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He was supposed to be questioning him about the code in that notebook and quizzing him about the whereabouts of his father… He probably should have been questioning him about what happened in that house. Why he'd been locked in the basement, and who exactly had taken a pair of scissors to his eyes… but right now, it was completely out of the question. Investigation be damned, he was not traumatising this little boy any further than he already had been. The kid had had a rough enough day of it as it was!

As he stood there, gently rubbing the kid's back, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly sent off two text messages.

Rossi – _"Questions are gonna have to wait. Kid's in no fit state to answer anything right now. Sorry, man, but I'm making a judgement call."_

Penelope – _"Hey Baby Girl, Need to talk about something important. Please hear me out before you say no. I love you. I'll call in 15 minutes."_

He knew this was going to be a difficult phone call. Possibly the most difficult phone call he would ever have to make… He just hoped that he could make Garcia understand.

"You need someone to look after you because you're just a little boy" he said, softly stroking the child's back as a lump formed in his throat, "Trust me kid, things _are_ going to get better."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: Okaaaaayyy…. So this might be a steaming pile of pants for all I know because I'm not sure I can really tell anymore… In any case, I've taken so long to write another chapter that a lot of you may have wandered off into the distance anyway and lost interest. I hope not. I've finally figured out how to get where I want to go so I'll try not to leave such big gaps in between.**

 **Anyhoo, just want to thank the lovely lovely people who commented on the last chapter (Moneteh, fishtrek, JessicaRae95, Beachgirl25, Pembie, Yeegaber, Dextolan, Sherryola, Tyalieva, and spxxxxx). You guys rock!**

 **Please let me know what you think.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Morgan stuck his phone in his pocket as he walked back into the hospital room and leaned his arms against the railings of Spencer's bed. The boy was still sleeping, although he'd turned over onto his side and curled himself around the teddy bear that had quickly become like a security blanket. His eyes were still red and puffy, but his little thumb had found its way to his mouth and his chest was rising and falling gently as he slept. He may have cried himself to sleep but at least he seemed to be dreaming peacefully enough.

Morgan gave a heavy sigh as he sank down into the all-too-familiar chair beside the bed and put his feet up gently on the foot rest one of the nurses had kindly provided for him. He was exhausted! Two hours of phone calls to Garcia, Hotch, CPS, and even his mother, had worn him out and all he wanted now was to close his eyes and wait for morning to come. At least then they could really put the wheels in motion.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, the conversation with Garcia playing over in his mind...

" _Hey, Baby Girl" he'd said as soon as she'd picked up, "You have no idea how much I need to hear your voice right now…" He couldn't help smiling. Just hearing Garcia's voice made him feel better. It always did._

" _Oh Derek, my chunk of Chocolate Love…" she sighed, "You know I'll never tire of hearing you say things like that… and I miss you too… But you and I both know that's not why you're calling. I have a text message with the most ominous words anyone can ever send their loved one… a 'We need to talk' message and I'm trying not to freak out… So, how 'bout you fess up to whatever it is you've done… or are about to do… and I can decide how I'm going to punish you." She lingered over the word 'punish' in a flirtatious tone._

" _Uh… okay…", he said, pacing down the hallway and rubbing at the back of his head with his free hand, "So… uh… Truth is, baby, I… I don't even know how to start this conversation…"_

" _Just start" she answered, suddenly a lot more sober in tone, "Just talk to me, Derek…"_

" _So… uh… I want to bring Spencer home with me" he blurted._

" _Wait, what?!" she answered. It clearly wasn't what she'd been expecting him to say._

" _Please don't say anything yet" he said in a rushed tone, "Just let me say my piece and you can ask me questions or yell at me after, okay?"_

" _O-okay" she stammered, "But Derek…"_

" _No!" he said, cutting her off, "I need to say this… I need you to just listen for a minute, okay?"_

" _I'm listening" she answered, only a small hint of annoyance at being told to be quiet._

" _I want us to foster, Spencer" he explained, "I can't leave him here, baby girl. I can't!" He sounded a little breathless with excitement and nervousness. "He's got no-one" he continued, "…and I know Hotch told me not to get attached… but I have. I can't help it. He's just so small and so scared, and he latched onto me right away and I just… I don't know. I feel this connection to him. And I just keep looking at him and thinking, 'how can someone do something like this to a kid?!' You know? I mean, it's not like we haven't seen bad stuff, even when it comes to kids… but this is just so… I don't know… Baby, someone blinded him! …Someone took a pair of scissors and stuck them in his eyes. How's he supposed to heal from something like that if he doesn't have people to love him?! …I just… I can't get past the fact that he's just gonna end up in some group home somewhere, sleeping on bunk beds in a dorm with a whole bunch of other kids that nobody wants. No mom, no dad… Just state appointed guardians… might as well be wardens. There'll be nobody really looking out for him… And he's had enough shit in his life. He can't even walk because of what they did to him. No-one deserves to live the way he has… He deserves better. And God, he's so smart, baby! I never met a kid this smart! You'd love him, you know that?"_

 _Morgan stopped and tried to catch his breath. He was just so excited, and nervous, and scared out of his mind that she would say no._

" _You gonna say something?" he asked after a too-long silence._

" _I'm allowed to speak?" she said, a slightly teasing tone in her voice._

" _Yeah… I mean… what do you think?"_

" _You really think we can do this, Derek?"_

" _Yeah, I do…"_

" _But… with all his problems… and the hours we work…. And your mom?"_

" _We'll make it work" he replied, "Baby, I really want this."_

" _But what about Hank?" she asked._

" _He'll get an older brother" he answered, "You know we never wanted him to be an only child…"_

" _Yes, but I thought… I meant… I meant we'd have another baby…" she babbled, "I didn't mean…"_

" _Baby, we can still do that" he replied, "We can still have another baby… But Spencer, right now? He needs a home. And he needs a mom. If anyone can give that boy the love he needs, it's you… You know that, right? It's us." He tapped on his screen and sent a quick photo he'd taken of Spencer with his teddy bear. Big empty brown eyes stared up at the screen. "Look at the photo I just sent you…" he pleaded, "Tell me you don't want that boy!" He knew it was a low blow, but sometimes you had to play dirty._

" _Derek, that's not fair!" she said, letting out a pained groan when she saw the photo on her screen, "You know me! You know if I had my way, I'd take every single stray puppy I ever saw home! What am I supposed to do with a photo like this?! That poor sweet little baby?! How am I supposed to say no to a face like that?!"_

" _You're not supposed to say no" he answered._

" _Hotness" she sighed, "I'm scared that we'll take him, and it won't work out… What if we get attached to him and then they just take him away from us? They do that in foster care, you know? It happens all the time… Or what if he doesn't like us and we have to let him go? I don't think I could deal with heartache like that. It'd kill me, Derek!"_

" _We have to try" he pleaded, "We can't just let the system take him because we're scared… After all the shit we've seen over the years, maybe this is a way to… I don't know… to like, make something right."_

" _But Derek?" she began._

" _No, listen, Baby, when have you ever been one to back down from a challenge? When has Penelope Garcia ever taken no for an answer?! And you know what? If they ever try to take him away from us we'll fight tooth and nail to keep him because that's what parents do. That's what WE do… And yeah Baby Girl, I do know you. I know you've got the biggest heart of any woman on this earth, and if you love someone there's nothing you won't do for them. Spencer deserves you in his life. He needs you in his corner."_

" _Derek, I just don't know…" she sighed, "I mean, I look at this photo and my heart just breaks for him, looking all cute like that like a little angel…" She let out a heavy sigh. "But… You… You really think we can do this?"_

" _I wouldn't ask you if I didn't" he answered._

 _There was a long silence and he began to worry ._

" _Baby Girl, you still there?"_

 _She took a big breath before speaking. "I'll be on the first flight out in the morning! …I gotta go now. I gotta do some shopping!"_

Morgan couldn't help smiling. There wasn't a day went by that he didn't thank his lucky stars. Marrying Garcia was the best thing that had ever happened to him. What other woman would even have entertained the idea of fostering a child simply because her husband wanted to? A child that she'd never met. What other woman would have looked at a kid this traumatised and damaged and thought that she could help? Or would have even wanted to? He was a lucky man.

Hotch hadn't been as easy to convince… but that was something he was going to have to deal with later.

* * *

The next morning…

"Okay Derek, so, if you just put your hand here on the heel of Spencer's foot…" said the young blonde-haired woman, as she guided Morgan's hands into position, "That's right… And… um… put your other hand here on the underside of his thigh… and then we just push slowly so we bring his leg up towards his chest…"

Morgan gave her an uneasy little smile as her hands lingered on his own just that little too long. Her name was Julie, a twenty-something physiotherapist, who'd bounced into the room with an enormous amount of energy just over twenty minutes ago. She was all white smile and flawless tanned skin, her shiny blonde hair pulled up into a perky high ponytail. He knew the type. The high school cheerleader, the popular sorority girl, the kind of woman who'd always been able to get the guy if she wanted. She was exactly the kind of girl he would have gone for before he'd fallen for Garcia. Exactly the kind of girl he'd always gone for… And she'd been flirting with him pretty much since the moment she arrived, spotting him in the chair beside the bed, and rightly identifying him as the 'hunky FBI agent everyone's been gushing about in the staffroom'. He was a little uncomfortable with the attention, especially since he'd seen her less-than-subtle glance at his ring finger. The fact that he was married obviously hadn't put her off though, so he was worried about doing anything that might give her the wrong impression. Especially, since he couldn't afford to get on the wrong side of anyone dealing with Spencer right now…

Not when he and Garcia were hoping to become foster parents! He'd mentioned it to Dr Gomez and Dr Robbins this morning when they'd come to do rounds and check on Spencer's wounds. Thankfully, the two doctors had both been nothing but supportive, even passing on relevant contacts and saying that they'd be happy to support the application. Morgan had told them that Garcia was flying in today to meet the boy before setting up a meeting with CPS to discuss their options. On that basis, the hospital had given Morgan permission to be more involved in the child's care and suggested that he try to learn how to do some of the physical and occupational therapy with him. They said if he could show that he was already invested in the child's care, it would help in their application to CPS. He didn't want anything to mess that up.

"…and then we move his foot back towards you" she continued, "…rotating his foot out a little bit, and try to bring it out as extended as possible…"

It was painfully obvious that Spencer couldn't straighten his legs properly, the knees refusing to extend beyond a 135-degree angle. He watched in sympathy as the physio applied some gentle pressure just above the child's kneecap to force it to extend a little further. It was obvious that it hurt.

"There you go!" she simpered, smiling sweetly at Morgan, "You're a natural!"

"Mrrrhhhmm!" moaned Spencer, one of the few noises he'd made since they'd begun twenty minutes ago. His little face was scrunched up, his eyes clenched tight, his head pressed back into his pillow, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Hurts!" he grunted, between clenched teeth.

"Oh, I know it hurts" she soothed, while nodding for Morgan to repeat the movement, "…but you're doing so well! You remember what I said, don't you? It's gonna hurt a bit at first… Your muscles are very stiff and it's going to take a while to get them working again properly. But you know what, Spencer? I'm gonna have you up and walking in no time!"

All the child did was give a shaky nod, his face a picture of discomfort. They'd tried to get him up on his feet for a few minutes, but he hadn't been able to straighten his knees enough to bear much weight and even with the standing frame, his legs had buckled. He had a long way to go before he'd be able to walk.

"Yeah kid, you're doing great" agreed Morgan. He couldn't help feeling angry that Spencer had to endure this in the first place. How could someone allow this to happen to their child?! How could they not see how bad things had gotten?! Hadn't Diana Reid even tried to help him?

"Let's switch back to the left leg" said Julie, "That okay with you, Spencer?" She somehow managed to combine irritatingly upbeat perkiness with a no-nonsense tone. It was abundantly clear that she wasn't really offering him a choice.

The boy let out a little whimper but nodded his head. Morgan couldn't believe how brave this child was. To be in this much pain, and hardly make a peep?!

"This okay?" asked Morgan, grimacing a little when he saw the child clench his jaw tighter. He could see that Spencer's left knee was worse than his right, a little bit swollen, and proving much more difficult to extend properly. "Spence?" he asked when he got no answer.

"He's fine" answered Julie, a bright and very fake looking smile spreading across her face, "Spencer's a champ! Aren't you Spence?"

Spencer gave a tight little nod, although there was something about his expression that said he found Julie a little patronising.

"And you've got your friend Derek here" she continued, pressing down on the boy's extended leg with one hand and gently stroking his hair out of his face with the other, "That's pretty cool, huh? An FBI agent helping you with your physio?! I don't know many kids that can say that!"

Morgan gave her a little smile. "Yeah, buddy… but you know what?" he said, "You're a lot braver than I would ever be. I'd be crying my eyes out by now. So would most of the guys I work with at the FBI… You're a tough kid, you know that?"

Spencer shook his head, blinking back tears that had come to his eyes as soon as Morgan mentioned crying. He brought one hand up and pressed a fist into one of his eyes. "How… How much longer?" he asked, letting out a hiss as Morgan pulled his leg into an extended position again.

"We'll keep going for about ten more minutes" answered Julie, "You can do that, can't you? Ten more minutes?"

Spencer looked as though he was somewhere between crying his eyes out and smacking the woman in the face, but after a moment, he gave a little nod, and then turned his face away from her.

"Derek?!" came a voice from the doorway.

Morgan looked round at the sound of his name. "Penelope?" he gasped, when he saw her standing there in the doorway. She'd arrived much earlier than expected, but instead of the happy smiling face he'd been expecting, her expression was one of misery. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and she was wringing her hands together and twisting her rings in that way she always did when she was upset or anxious. Something had happened.

"Derek… I… I need to talk to you" she said, stammering a little and motioning for him to come with her into the hallway. She glanced at the boy in the bed and then back at Morgan in a way that said, _'I don't want him to hear what I have to say'._

He gave her a little nod as she walked away and then he looked back with a tense little grimace at the physiotherapist. She threw him a nod, silently telling him to go and do what he needed to do, and then stepped up beside him to take over. She'd obviously seen how upset Garcia was and had the good sense to understand the urgency of the situation.

"Hey, Spence?" he said, transferring his hold of the child's foot to Julie's practised hands. "I just need to step into the hallway for a minute or two… I'm not gonna go far okay?"

Spencer just frowned in his vague direction. It was amazing how perceptive the boy was. Even those few words from Garcia had him furrowing his brow in concern, the tone of her voice and Morgan's reaction telling him in no uncertain terms that something was wrong.

"Aw kid" he soothed, moving over to give the boy's hair a little ruffle. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

When he finally made it out to the hallway, Garcia was pacing back and forth in the small seating area, a brown folder in her hand. She spun around to look at him when she heard him approaching and held the folder out to him.

He took it from her hand as soon as he caught up with her. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Derek" she whimpered, shaking her head.

"Hey… hey, what's wrong?!" he asked, his voice soft and breathy as a wave of fear and worry crashed over him, "You're freaking me out here, baby girl?!" When she just continued shaking her head, he forgot the folder in his hand and pulled her in against his chest, putting his arms around her. "What's happened?" he asked again.

"He… He was going to sell him!" she cried, her voice rushed and panicked, "He was going to… to sell that sweet little boy! He was going to sell him to a couple of murderers, Derek!"

"What?!" he gasped, pulling away from her to look at her properly, "What are you talking about?"

"William Reid" she answered, tears trailing down her cheeks, "He was going to sell Spencer to the Jacobs. He had it all lined up."

"We got them to talk?" he asked, his heart clenching at the thought of Spencer ending up in the clutches of those two sick bastards, "Hotch cut them a deal or something?"

"No, the Jacobs still aren't talking…" she said, reaching for the folder in his hand again and opening it to show him the contents. There were printed sheets of paper inside. "Spencer's diary" she said, "My friend Scott managed to break the code…"

His eyes widened with the realisation of what he was looking at. Words like 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' jumped off the page at him. These were Spencer's words. Spencer's thoughts.

"Derek… William Reid was going to sell that gorgeous little angel in there to a couple of paedophile murderers…"

He flipped to a section of the diary where he saw the name Jacobs highlighted in yellow. Spencer had written down a one-sided transcript of the conversation his father had had. He'd agreed a price and a pick-up time. He'd even discussed how he was going to have to drug his wife to get the boy out of the house.

"Oh God!" gasped Morgan, "The poor kid knew?! He knew what was going to happen to him?!"

"Yeah, it's all there…" she confirmed, a bitterness in her voice that he'd rarely heard, "He heard his father… his own scuzzball father negotiating his sale price! They were supposed to meet in a car park nearby. He was gonna get $50,000 for him…"

"Why didn't he sell him then?" he asked, "I mean, why did William Reid just fall off the face of the earth?! Where did he go?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all you lovely folk that commented on the last chapter (Dextolan, JessicaRae95, Daisyangel, fishtrek, Smec, Pembie, Moneteh, SpiritedWonder, Daisy312, and Tutash). I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support and how much seeing your comments brighten up my day. I hope you like this chapter. It's a bit different. Not sure how well it works but I thought I'd give this a go** **.** **Any feedback is welcome!**

 **Chapter 12**

"Okay, we're listening Morgan" said Hotch, giving him a small nod of encouragement on the screen, "Just read it to us."

Hotch, JJ, Rossi, and Prentiss were all gathered around the screen in one of the meeting rooms in the local police station. They knew that Spencer's diary had thrown up more connections between the Jacobs brothers and William Reid than they'd originally suspected but they needed to dissect the information and see where they'd go from here. Sometimes hearing a witness statement read out loud could be more effective than just reading it off the screen. Morgan had offered to so the honours.

Garcia glanced at Derek and gave his hand a little squeeze. She knew that he didn't want to be away from Spencer right now and leaving him with the social worker had proved particularly difficult. The boy's over-attachment and clinginess didn't seem to be getting any better and he'd had to walk away as the child cried and reached out for him. It was heartbreaking.

"Okay" said Morgan, taking a deep breath and holding the pages in front of him. He was doing his best to keep his anger at bay but reading it for a second time definitely wasn't any easier. He began to read:

 _Mommy, I couldn't wake you again today. You're lying on the floor of your bedroom again. I tried shaking you but all you did was mumble and I don't know what you said. You've been sleeping a lot. It scares me. You never used to sleep so much. I think maybe the pills you take are making you sleep, and I don't think that's normal, but Daddy keeps telling me not to worry. He says you need to sleep to get better. I wish you'd wake up because Daddy's friends are always here. I know you don't like daddy's friends, especially the weird men with the black hair, the Jacobs. I know you don't want them in the house. I don't like them either. I wish he wouldn't let them in. I wish you would wake up and make them go._

* * *

 _Daddy said to stay in my room today. He said I had to stay in here all day and not come out no matter what. Not even if I was hungry. Not even if I had to go to the bathroom. He left me a bucket to pee in and a bag of gummi bears. It's too hot in here and I don't like it. I'm thirsty but I'm scared to go out there. Daddy hurt my arm last time I broke a rule, and it hurt a lot, and I don't want him to do it again. Daddy scares me. I wish he wasn't so mean. I wish you weren't sleeping. Do you even remember I'm here?_

* * *

 _The bad men are here again tonight. Daddy locked me in my room again but this time he didn't give me a bucket or any food. It's loud. I don't like it when they shout like that. I don't like it when people scream and shout. I don't like it. Are you still sleeping Mommy, even with all the shouting?_

* * *

 _It hurts. Daddy smashed my head off the floor in the living room and hit me in the face. He said I was bad. I didn't mean to be bad. I'm sorry if I was bad, Mommy. Please don't be angry at me too._

* * *

Here Derek took a breath and glanced up at the screen, fury apparent on his face. "I swear, Hotch… If this bastard is still alive…!"

"I know, Derek" said Hotch, his jaw clenched in anger. It was hard not to be affected by the child's words, especially given his own history with an abusive father.

Morgan shook his head and looked back down at the pages in front of him. His hands were shaking. His voice shook a little too when he eventually continued:

 _Mommy, I'm scared. I heard weird noises coming from the basement again last night. I don't like the noises. The first time I asked Daddy to check what they were, he just laughed at me and told me to go back to my room, but when I asked him again, he hit me, and my nose started bleeding. He said if he ever caught me going down there, he'd cut my fingers off. I tried to ask you about it, but you seemed really strange today. You weren't sleeping but you didn't really seem awake either. You just kept staring at me. I need you to go downstairs and see what's making all that noise. What if it's an animal that got hurt? What if it needs our help?_

* * *

 _I heard you in the bedroom with Daddy last night. I know he was hurting you. I'm sorry I couldn't make him stop. I'm sorry I couldn't open the door. I'm sorry, Mommy._

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" exclaimed Rossi,suddenly interrupting, "The kid heard his dad… He heard him..."

"It gets a lot worse, my Italian friend" sighed Garcia, "The poor little cupcake didn't exactly win the lottery in the parents department…"

Morgan let out another deep breath. The thought of Spencer having to deal with all of this just made his heart clench. He continued after a moment:

* * *

 _You were sleeping again today, Mommy. Your face looks sore, but I put a Band-Aid on your eyebrow and cleaned the blood away. Maybe you should stay asleep for a little while longer because I don't want Daddy to hurt you again. I'll stay here and keep you safe._

* * *

 _I'm so scared Mommy! You were awake today, but you didn't know me anymore. I tried telling you I was Spencer, that I was your son, but you called me a liar. You said I was a spy from the Government, and you didn't want me looking at you. You hit me. You hurt me, Mommy. I don't know why you did that. I don't understand. I know you're sick, but even when you've been confused before, you've never hit me. You've never hurt me before. Not like this, not like Daddy does. You said you didn't recognise me today, but the truth is that I didn't recognise you. The real you wouldn't have done that. I miss you so much, Mommy. Please don't leave me alone. Daddy's always in the basement with his friends but I'm not allowed to go down there so I'm always alone. I'm tired of being alone._

* * *

"Poor Kid" sighed JJ, "I can't imagine one of my boys seeing me like that. I know the woman was sick but I just…"

"She didn't mean to hurt him" said Hotch, "Even the boy knows that his mother wasn't in her right mind. He's able to differentiate between the person and the illness."

"Smart kid" agreed Prentiss, "…but that doesn't change the fact that he's excusing the actions of an abuser. An alcoholic doesn't set out to hurt their loved ones but…"

"It's not the same thing" argued JJ, "She was mentally ill…"

"A lot of people think alcoholism is a mental illness" shrugged Prentiss, "We just don't forgive it as easily because we think it's self-inflicted, a matter of weakness…"

"It's not the same as something you're born with or a chemical imbalance in the brain" insisted JJ, "She can't just stop being mentally ill… An alcoholic can stop drinking!"

"It's not that simple…" Rossi began to say but Hotch interrupted him.

"Okay, okay!" said Hotch, holding his hands up, "We're getting off course here… I'm more interested in what was going on in this basement. That's where we found Spencer. It seems strange that the Unsubs were spending so much time down there…"

"Oh, we'll get to the basement" said Garcia, "Read the rest of it, Derek…" He just nodded.

 _I feel strange today Mommy. I feel a little sick in my tummy and I can't see very well. All I want to do is go to sleep. Is this how you feel? Am I sick too?_

"Jesus, was he drugging the kid too?" asked Rossi.

Morgan's eyes flicked up to the screen for a moment to meet Rossi's and he gave a grim little nod. It was pretty clear what was happening to both the mom and the son if you were even vaguely paying attention. Morgan gave Garcia's hand a little squeeze before continuing:

 _Mommy, do you believe in ghosts? I didn't either but now I'm not so sure. I think maybe I saw a ghost last night. I was still feeling sick, so I wanted to go to the kitchen to get some water. When I walked in, there was a girl with red hair in the living-room with Daddy and his friends, but she was just sitting there. She was really pale, and all she did was stare. I tried saying 'hello' but she didn't say it back. She didn't move. She didn't say anything. She just sat in the chair. Daddy said I had to go back to bed and dragged me back towards my room. When I asked him about the girl, he said, 'what girl?' and then locked me in. I don't know. Maybe they couldn't see her? Or maybe I was seeing things that weren't there? Maybe I'm sick like you?_

* * *

"Rachel Nilsson" said Garcia, clicking a photo of a ten-year-old girl up on the screen, "Taken just under 2 years ago at the age of ten. Parents got the recording of her death six days after her abduction but the body was never recovered."

Morgan brought his hand up and covered his face for a moment. This thing was just getting uglier and uglier. After a moment, he pulled his hand away and looked back at the pages.

* * *

 _I heard crying in the basement again last night. I think it's the little girl. I told Daddy that there's a ghost of a little girl living in our basement and he laughed in my face. He told me 'Some genius you are!' and grabbed me by the back of the neck. He says I have to stay in my room until Sunday and I can't have any food. I don't understand why he's so angry._

* * *

 _Mommy, I'm so tired and hungry. It's been three days and I don't have any water left. Daddy and the men left on Friday and I'm scared that they're not coming back. What if they never come back to let me out? The girl in the basement has stopped crying. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I don't know where you are. I don't know if you're even still in the house. I'm so lonely and scared. I don't want to die in here alone. I wish Daddy hadn't boarded up my window because then I could smash it and get outside. I wish I was strong enough to break down the door and come and get you. I wish you would wake up._

* * *

 _You opened my door today, but I was so sleepy and tired that I thought I was dreaming. You just opened my door and then walked away. I followed you down the hallway and watched you climb back into bed. You were asleep again before I even got a chance to talk to you. I decided to go and get some food from the kitchen because I knew that Daddy wasn't there right now, and I might not get another chance. That's when I saw the open hatch to the basement. It had always been padlocked before. I pulled on the light and walked down the stairs. The smell was really bad down there, like the smell you get when the toilet is broken. My eyes got really sore and stingy and I couldn't really see for a few minutes but then I saw that the basement was empty. I don't know what I was expecting but I thought there would be something down there because Daddy and his friends like to spend so much time down there. I thought there would be a TV and a couch or a pool table or something. Not just some dirty mattress and a pile of old chains. There was no sign of an injured animal or even the ghost girl I'd seen. Now I'm really worried that I am like you, Mommy. Maybe I'm schizophrenic like you._

"Oh, thank God!" exclaimed Prentiss, "They'd already moved her!"

"Thank heavens for small mercies" agreed Rossi, "No kid needs to see someone be murdered. Especially not another child."

"Even a few days earlier and he could have been walking in on a bloodbath" said Hotch, his eyes flashing with emotion.

"I don't think any child would ever get over that" sighed JJ, "I'm not even sure I would."

"Will I read on?" asked Morgan.

Hotch gave a little nod, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

* * *

 _When I heard daddy's car in the drive I had to run so fast back to my bedroom and pull the door closed. I just hope Daddy won't notice it isn't locked._

* * *

 _Today, Daddy let me out of my room. He was nice today. He made me Pop Tarts and gave me orange juice. He laughed at me because he said I ate and drank too fast but then he gave me more. I was so full, I thought I was going to be sick. He even gave me a bath and combed my hair when he was done. Then he got me to help put you to bed and pick out a nice dress for you. I said you looked pretty today, even if you were still sleeping, but Daddy said you needed some makeup. He was right! You looked so pretty with your makeup on and I was so happy! Then daddy laughed and said maybe I'd look better with some makeup too. I said it was only for girls, but he said it would make me look healthier. I didn't want to make him angry, so I let him put some stuff on my face to make me look like I had a tan. I said it smelled weird and he laughed and messed up my hair. I don't know why Daddy was so happy today or why he wanted photos of me, he's never wanted photos before, but it was the best day I can remember._

* * *

"Oh, God, the poor kid" sighed Rossi.

Morgan shot him a sad look before going back to reading. They all knew where this was headed.

* * *

 _You were awake today and you really seemed like you. Daddy ordered takeout and we ate together in the living-room. I wanted to show you my journal to see if you could understand the code because then I'd really know it was 'you', but you seemed so happy today. I didn't want to make you unhappy. I'm sorry, Mommy, I know you asked me to keep this journal so you'd always know what was happening when you were sick, but I couldn't do it to you today. When you asked me if things were okay, I should have told you that they weren't. I should have told you how much you've been sleeping lately, but I couldn't. Not today. Not when you and Daddy were both happy. I just wanted one normal day._

* * *

 _I'm sorry you're sleeping again Mommy. I'm sorry I missed my chance to talk to you. I miss you._

* * *

Morgan looked up at the rest of the team on the screen. The sadness on their faces was apparent. How sad was it that the child had sacrificed his chance of getting help for just one day of normality with kind and loving parents? The significance of the code wasn't lost on them either. Spencer's mother had devised it as a way for Spencer to know when she was well. A way for her to keep him safe from her altered self and to know the goings-on in the house when she 'went away'.

"I hate this" sighed Morgan, before blowing out another deep breath and starting to read again:

* * *

 _Today, Daddy's friends came by to watch TV. I was going to go to my room like normal, but Daddy made me come back and sit in Ethan's lap. I didn't want to. I don't like him or his brother, or the way they both look at me, but I was too scared that Daddy would be angry. He's been so nice to me the last few days and I didn't want to make him angry again. Ethan kept putting his hand on my tummy under my shirt. It felt weird and I didn't like it._

* * *

It didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team just how tight Morgan's voice had become as he read those last few lines. Pain and anger was bubbling to the surface and he was visibly shaking now as he continued to read. Garcia reached for his hand and began circling her thumb softly on the inside of his wrist.

* * *

 _I figured out why Daddy was being so nice to me and it makes me sad. He was really saying goodbye because he's leaving us. I heard him on the phone today talking to his friends about selling something. He said it was worth three times what he was selling it for, and that they'd get a lot more for it on the open market. I think he's selling his car. I don't know how he's going to leave without a car, but maybe one of his friends is going to give him a ride. Daddy acts mean a lot of the time, but I don't want him to go. I still love him._

* * *

"Jesus, kid" moaned Rossi, "You're breaking my heart here!"

"After everything he'd done?!" sighed JJ.

"Stockholm syndrome" said Hotch, "Although in this case, there are the parental and familial ties which make that bond even closer. He couldn't hate his father no matter what the bastard did to him. The man controlled every aspect of his life, including whether he starved to death in his bedroom or not… or whether his mother was well cared for or left lying in a pool of her own waste. That man was his whole world. Of course, he loved him."

"He feared him too" said JJ, "He was terrified of him!"

"The man was basically God" said Rossi, "You telling me you're not scared of God?"

"I don't believe in God" said Prentiss, rolling her eyes at him without even realising it.

"What is it they say?" smirked Rossi, "I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of him"

Morgan waited for them to be quiet, allowing Garcia to try to calm him with her gentle touches. Inside all his instincts were warring against each other. He wasn't sure whether to go find William Reid so he could kill him or run straight back to little Spencer so he could scoop him up in his arms and hold him tight.

"Morgan?!" said Hotch, a note of concern in his voice.

"Derek?!" said Garcia at exactly the same time.

"Huh?!" he asked, jumping a little when he realised he'd completely zoned out. Garcia was staring at him, a frown knotted between her eyebrows. When he looked at the screen he could see everyone looking at him a little worriedly.

"Are you okay to continue?" asked Hotch, "Maybe Garcia could read the rest?"

"No… um…" he replied, looking down at the sheets of paper fluttering in his hands, "No, it's fine…"

* * *

 _Daddy came home with some new clothes in shopping bags. They were for me. I didn't like them. When I told him I didn't want to wear them, Daddy raised his hand to hit me, but then he just stopped. I've never seen him do that._

"He didn't want him marked for the sale" said Hotch, "He needed him to look healthy."

Morgan breathed out an angry huff before reading again.

 _Mommy, I need you to wake up! I need you to wake up! I'm so scared. And Daddy's right, I am stupid! He's not selling a car, Mommy, he's going to sell me! I heard him talking to Ethan again and he said he was willing to drop his price to $50,000. He said he needed to get out of town by Wednesday night or someone called Tony was coming for him. He said he'd make sure you were asleep when he took me! He's taking me to the car park over by Dunkin Donuts. I don't know where that is but that's where they're coming to get me. I'm so scared, Mommy! What do I do?_

"Tony Macciotti" said Garcia, flashing a picture of an overweight Italian man up on the screen, "Las Vegas crime boss and by all accounts not a warm and cuddly one. If Tony and his guys were sending someone to get William, he had every right to be scared. Anyone who gets on their wrong side has a terrible habit of winding up dead."

Morgan glared at the man on the screen. A part of him wanted to punish William himself and resented the Mafia boss for possibly taking that chance away from him.

"You think they got to him?" asked Prentiss, "You think they got to him before he got a chance to sell Spencer?"

"Maybe" said Hotch, "It could explain it... but not why the boy is blind."

Morgan jumped in, reading out the last couple of sentences.

* * *

 _I know what he's been doing now, Mommy! He's been drugging you! I'm going to make him stop! I'm going to find the pills he's been using and then you'll wake up. I need you to wake up!_

* * *

"Spencer figured things out" said Morgan, glancing up at the screen again. "He figured out what William was doing, drugging his Mom. He's such a smart kid. Maybe he got his Mom to wake up. Maybe he saved himself from his dad?"

"Maybe" said Hotch, with a sad little smile.

The rest of the team began to discuss the likelihood that the kidnapped girls had been held in the basement on behalf of the Jacobs brothers and that they'd have to inform local police of their findings. They'd need a warrant to search the property where Spencer was found and check for human remains. Spencer would need to be interviewed properly to see if they could glean any more information regarding his father's dealings with the Jacobs, or if he'd been aware of any of the other girls passing through the house. They needed to understand what had happened to William and whether Spencer knew of his whereabouts. Diana Reid's body would have to be re-examined to ascertain what drugs had been used and whether they had led to her untimely death. Hotch was busily handing out roles and responsibilities but when he turned back to the screen to speak to Garcia and Morgan he realised that Morgan wasn't listening. He was just staring blankly at the table.

"Garcia?" said Hotch, looking concerned.

"Can you give us a few minutes?" she said, giving Hotch a little smile, "We'll call back in a while."

Morgan sat staring at the pieces of paper on the table in front of him. He hadn't read out the final words written in shaky block capitals. They'd been written in English. No need for translation. Some of the letters had overlapped and some were more than misshapen but the meaning and weight of those words was unmistakable. Poor little Spencer had only written 4 words since he'd been blinded, and they hadn't been in code. Morgan's heart broke when he looked at the words again:

SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME

'Someone's going to help you' he thought to himself silently, 'Someone's finally going to help you, Spencer'.

"Derek?" said Garcia, getting to her feet when Morgan rose and began heading for the door, "Are you okay?"

He looked back at her for a moment and gave a little smile. He knew where he was going when he left this room. Screw the investigation! He was going back to Spencer's room to be the dad that the boy needed and deserved. The one that he should have had from the start. The rest of the team would have to find William Reid.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note: Oh dear. Sooooooo sorry for the delay on this chapter. Pesky life has been getting in the way again (entertaining visitors is time consuming) and I've had a pretty hefty dose of writer's block as well unfortunately. Not sure I like this chapter that much but I'm gonna throw it out there and see what you think. Again, thank you soooo much to you lovely lovely folk (pembie, Dextolan, fishtrek, Yeegaber, Tyalieva, Moneteh, AZCatmom, Beachgirl25, and JessicaRae95) who commented on the last chapter. I appreciate every one of your comments. They light up my day!**

 **Chapter 13**

Spencer sat curled up on the bed, his arms hugged around his knees, and his face hidden. His legs ached and throbbed from all the manhandling in physiotherapy earlier and he was tired, so very tired, but he knew that he couldn't go to sleep.

Not now. Not when he was alone here, abandoned by the one person he'd begun to trust. He had a horrible sick feeling in his stomach as terrible thoughts raced around his head. He felt so stupid. He'd believed Derek when he'd said he wouldn't leave him, trusted that when he drifted off to sleep, the man would still be there when he woke up. That he wouldn't leave him to face the world alone… That he'd come back… but he'd lied.

Derek was gone, and Spencer _was_ alone. It had been well over two hours since Derek had gone and he obviously wasn't coming back! His mom had warned him not to trust ' _the government'_ but he hadn't listened. The man had seemed so kind. So genuine. He had fooled him with the way he spoke to him and the soft way he touched him. He'd made him think that he really cared. That he might even love him. And Spencer had wanted so badly to believe that, to think that there really was some kindness in the world. That someone would look out for him and keep him safe.

But Derek had walked away and left him with Miss Smiley. The man might as well have kicked him in the stomach.

Miss Smiley was gone now too, but she'd spent twenty minutes talking _at_ him about what was going to happen next. She'd sat in the chair beside the bed, and sighed and harrumphed, and flicked through a file in her hands in a way that said she had better places to be. He'd been able to hear the rustling of paper as she read her notes, but she hadn't told him what was written there. She hadn't asked him any questions, at least none that she really expected him to answer. She'd simply talked at him in a way that made him feel small and powerless, like a burden to the state that would have to be 'taken care of' and 'put somewhere'. The sound of the 'facilities' she talked about had made his heart thump wildly in his chest. His mother had used that word too. He knew what to expect in one of those places. She'd told him they were looking into a possible placement for him, but if that didn't work out, then he'd be going to one of the ' _facilities_ ' downtown, but ' _not to worry'_ because he'd get the best _'treatment'_ available. As though that wasn't ominous. 'Treatment'? He couldn't help the shudder that passed through his body every time she said it.

He didn't like her. In fact, more than that, he was scared of her. He'd sat curled in a ball, barely responding to her when she spoke, but she hadn't seemed to care. If he could have made himself invisible, he would have.

Now that she was gone, he cursed himself for his own stupidity! How gullible could he have been?! All the kindness he'd been shown the last few days had only been a trick and now he was going to be moved to one of the government facilities so they could run tests on him and torture him just like his mother had said they would! His hands flew to his eyes, covering them protectively, as he sat there rocking back and forth. He was so scared!

He heard his mother's voice in his head _,_ imagining what she would have said to him _. 'Run, baby! You're smarter than them! Run, before they get the chance! Don't tell them anything!'_

' _But where am I gonna go?!_ ' he thought to himself, _'I don't know anyone! I don't know where to go!'_ What he didn't say was _'I'm blind'_ because she always got really sad when he said that, and he didn't want to make her sad.

' _Just run, baby! Just get out of here'_ he imagined her hissing in his ear _, 'Just get out as fast as you can and hide! Hide, Spencer!'_

He imagined doing just that. He would throw the blankets back and tuck his teddy bear under his arm. After all, if he was making a run for it, he would take the only bit of comfort he had left with him. He couldn't imagine leaving him behind.

He'd listen intently to the sounds out in the corridor. Julie was still within hearing range. He could hear her talking to the Policeman that had been stationed there. Somehow, he knew by the sound of their voices that they weren't right outside the door, that they must have wandered a short distance away. He wondered if the man was still watching, or if the flirty young physiotherapist was enough to hold his attention and distract him.

He ran his fingers over his arm to find the bandages holding his IV in place and imagined what it would feel like to quickly rip it out. He knew that the needle of the cannula was buried in a vein in his arm, but he wondered how deep it went. There would be only one way to find out. He followed the rubber tubing with nimble little fingers to the point at which it attached to the cannula in his arm and imagined himself taking a deep breath before yanking hard to pull it out. He would hiss sharply in surprise, he supposed, the pain more than he'd been expecting. He thought about what he would do if it began to bleed. Warm sticky blood would begin to tickle down his arm and he would have to find some way to bandage it.

'Crap!' he whispered under his breath, cupping his hand over the phantom wound, stinging almost as bad as if he'd done it for real. He'd gotten very good at escaping into his imagination and playing out scenarios. Without his imagination he might have gone mad in that basement.

"Oh, I've never fired a gun!" he heard Julie say, giggling seductively out in the corridor. Then she said something about guns being ' _big_ ' and ' _powerful_ ' but he didn't catch the whole sentence. As innocent as he was, even he could tell that she was being very obvious.

Marco didn't seem to mind though. The young policeman was obviously flattered by the attention. "Maybe I could teach you?" he heard him replying, and then Julie was giggling again.

He went back to fantasising about his escape…

"Think, Spencer!" he told himself, "You're bleeding! And you have to find a way to stop it!"

That was when he remembered the bandages he would have taken off his arm. He would have to feel around to find them. He mimed out the motion of straightening out the bandages and rewrapping his arm the best he could with the use of only one hand. He knew it wouldn't hold for very long but at least he might not drip blood all over the floor.

That done, he would slip over to the edge of the bed and dangle his skinny little legs over the side. He wasn't sure how far off the floor he was but after falling out of the bed a couple of times, he seemed to remember it being quite high. He would have to use both hands despite his wrist brace, gripping the side of the mattress, and slipping one hip off the bed to try to use his foot to gauge the distance. He knew that he wouldn't be able to reach. The fall would definitely hurt!

He would ready himself and take a deep breath. Falling out of the bed unintentionally was one thing but choosing to fall was another. Last time, he'd fallen on his hip, and it had hurt quite a lot. This time, with a controlled fall, he would have to hope he'd do a better job of landing, so he didn't injure himself. With another deep breath, he would slide off the bed completely. He imagined himself crashing to the floor in a heap, smashing his knees hard into the linoleum. Searing white pain would shoot up through his kneecaps and his injured wrist, reverberating through his whole body. He'd probably have to bite his lower lip hard to keep from crying out. To keep from alerting the staff…

As he sat in the bed, he began massaging his knees subconsciously. They'd begun to hurt just thinking about that fall, and he began to wonder why, even in his fantasies he always seemed to hurt himself.

Back in his fantasy escape, he'd struggle to his hands and knees, wincing a little at the bruises already forming there, and begin to crawl. He knew where the door was. He'd just have to make it there without anyone noticing him. It would be slow going with one arm in a cast and the other arm bandaged to stop the bleeding. The bear under his arm wouldn't help either but the thought of leaving it behind made his heart clench. All he could hope for was that the blood didn't start seeping through the bandages. The last thing he would want to do was leave a trail for people to follow like Hansel and Gretel and their trail of breadcrumbs.

A sad smile came to his lips when he thought of his mother reading The Brother's Grimm to him and explaining how sanitised more modern versions of the story had become. It was a bittersweet memory. He'd preferred the more bloodthirsty original versions at the time, but now he wasn't so sure. He'd had enough of blood and violence and cruelty for one lifetime.

Blinking back tears that he definitely wasn't going to cry, he turned his attention back to the fantasy getaway. In his mind, he was almost at the door!

He could hear Julie only a few steps away on the other side of the door, but she was still flirting shamelessly with the young policeman. Neither of them would have heard him falling from the bed, too engrossed in conversation to notice.

He would cautiously lean out through the doorway, turning his head so that he could listen for footsteps. He knew that a nurse and one of the orderlies had wheeled him down the corridor to the left when they'd taken him to the shower rooms yesterday, and he knew that there was an elevator at the end of the hallway. Carlos had wittered on at great length about what they were passing, probably to try to distract him because they knew he was nervous. He knew that it was a long hallway with private rooms on both sides and that it led to a double set of elevators. He also knew there was a swing door that they'd bumped through to get to the bathrooms. That was the way he would need to go!

But, that was where the fantasy ended. He couldn't push past that point in his head, couldn't make the leap to move past the door. Everything he knew was in this room now. The four walls he could hear, sounds bouncing off them when people talked or when people brought his food in and clanged the metal food cover against the table. This was the full extent of his existence. He didn't know what was outside that door. Not really…

The thought of being out there terrified him. It seemed so utterly vast. And there were too many unknowns.

Where would he even go if he got outside? Where would an eight-year-old blind kid go in what had to be a very large building. A kid who couldn't walk?! Did he really think that he could crawl all the way to the elevator and ride it to the ground floor? And if he could?! What then?! If he could get there unseen by the nursing staff and the doctors and the orderlies, where would he go when he got there?!

He had no answer to that. He had no home anymore. He had no family. He had nowhere to go and no-one who wanted him. He was lost.

With that, he let out a quiet sob and curled up in a ball on his side. As scared as he was of the 'facilities', he knew he had no option but to let 'them' come and take him. He hugged his arm tighter around his teddy bear as tears began to stream down his cheeks. All he could hope was that they'd at least let him take the teddy with him.

* * *

"Derek Henry Morgan, you stop right there!" shouted Garcia, as she teetered along the hospital corridor in a pair of bright pink 5-inch heels. She'd had to chase him down two long corridors towards Spencer's room, breaking into a run to try to keep up with his long, determined strides. She'd finally managed to catch up with him, but she was really regretting her choice of footwear right about now. "You do not walk away from me like that!" she scolded, "Not until we talk about things!"

Morgan stopped in his tracks, his shoulders drooping. He stood like that for a moment, his hands clenched in fists by his sides, his back to her. He hadn't meant to run out on her like that, especially since she'd dropped everything and flown in to meet him.

"Derek, look at me?!" she demanded, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn, "Look at me! Talk to me!" Her big brown eyes were full of worry.

"Sorry" he muttered, a guilty expression on his face as his eyes met hers, "I just… Baby Girl, I need to get back to him. He needs me…" His voice was soft and pleading.

"Okay, but I need you too" she answered, "I mean, you get that, right? You don't just walk away from me like that. I flew all the way here so I could meet Spencer. I'm here! I came here so we could do this together. You just walked out of there like I didn't even exist…"

"Baby, I'm sorry" he said, stepping closer to her and slipping his arms around her waist, "I wasn't thinking… I just… Spencer's on his own in there and I need to get back to him…"

"He's not alone" she argued, pulling him towards the seats along one of the walls, "He's with the social worker… So, why don't we sit down here for a minute and let's talk about this sensibly?"

He seemed torn for a moment. Part of him wanting to rush back to Spencer and the other part seeing the hurt and confusion on his wife's face. He owed it to her to hear what she had to say. "Okay" he agreed, "But just for a few minutes". He sank down onto the seat beside her and gave her a little half-smile.

"Okay, now you're going to tell me what's going on with you" she said, taking his hand in hers, "I saw you. You were freaking out when you were reading Spencer's diary. Was it the… was it because of the… the Jacobs?"

He clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor. The thought of the Jacobs brothers being anywhere near Spencer had his blood boiling. He couldn't get it out of his head.

"Sweetie, you know the doctors said he wasn't sexually assaulted…" she began, "There weren't any signs of..."

Morgan shook his head and pulled his hand from hers to rub his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans.

"He might not have been raped" he said, "But that doesn't mean they didn't touch him. You heard what his diary said. They made him sit on their laps and… that bastard put his hands on him, under his shirt. Just because there aren't any physical signs of rape right now doesn't mean they didn't do anything. That diary was written over a year ago. He's had time to heal."

Garcia nodded and stared thoughtfully into the distance for a moment. She knew how painful it was for Morgan to talk about what had happened with Buford, but it was also something that needed to be addressed, especially since it seemed to be one of the driving factors behind Morgan's decision to foster the boy.

"You think he's been sexually abused?" she asked, her brows knitted together in concern.

"I don't know" he admitted, "But I have my suspicions. He's jumpy and withdrawn… and I see a lot of me in him… the way I was when I was a kid. Hurt, scared… defensive. I don't know though… It might just be because he's blind. He can't see people before they touch him. It would make anyone jumpy… and with the kind of shit he's been through…"

"It's a wonder he lets you anywhere near him" she said, nodding in agreement, "Poor little angel."

"But he does, baby… and for whatever reason, he trusts me…"

"Because he knows you're a good man" she said, reaching for his hand again and giving him a soft smile. "But, Derek… only Spencer can tell us what really happened. Maybe he was sexually abused and maybe he wasn't… Jumping to conclusions isn't going to help him and… and no matter what happened, he's going to need professional help... Someone blinded him deliberately and you read the contents of that journal. He's not going to get over this just because we bring him home and give him a normal family. Cupcakes and bedtime stories are not going to fix this. You know that, right?"

"I know" nodded Morgan, "I know… We'll get him a therapist. The best we can find."

He couldn't help wondering how different things might have been for him if someone had taken him to a psychologist after his father had died. If he hadn't been so angry and lost, then maybe he wouldn't have fallen into Buford's clutches.

"Derek?" she sighed again, "Do you really think we're equipped to deal with something like this? I mean, this poor little baby has just been through so much. Don't you think maybe he needs someone… someone with experience with this sort of thing? People with the time to spend with him?"

He looked up at her with a pained expression. "You can't tell me I don't have _'experience'_ with this sort of thing" he said, "I know what it's like..."

"Derek, you know that's not what I meant. I know you understand better than anyone what it's like to be that scared little boy in there, but you're not a professional. And maybe all of this will stir things up for you again? You've worked hard to get to where you are… and to be… to be okay with what happened."

"I'll never be _okay_ with what happened!" he snapped at her, a flash of anger in his eyes, "Nothing will ever make it okay!"

"You know that's not what I meant" she answered calmly, "And getting angry at me isn't going to help. We need to be able to talk about this like adults if we have any chance of helping Spencer."

"I'm sorry. I know" he said, with a heavy sigh. He knew that he was taking his anger out on the wrong person.

"You want to foster a child with a list of issues as long as my arm…" she continued, "…and you think those monsters abused him?! Stud muffin, if you can't even have a conversation with me about it without getting angry, how are we going to help that little boy?!"

He visibly deflated, lowering his head to stare at the floor. "I… I'll talk to someone too" he said, "I know I'm a mess sometimes, but I also know I need to do this. I can't just walk away from him. I can't."

"Have you thought about how we're going to manage this?" she asked, "How we're going to have time to look after him while we're both working?"

"My mom said she'll help" he said, nodding in a solemn kind of way. "But... I… I think I want to take a break for a while… I haven't talked to Hotch about it yet but I think I need a break from the BAU. I've been thinking about it for a while, but this case… I don't know mama, this one… I just need to see some light in the world for a while. No more dead kids. I'm sick of chasing monsters, only for another one to pop up five seconds later."

"But… but it's what we do?!" gasped Garcia, "It's what makes us who we are."

"It is" he sighed, "But it's not _all_ I am… and it's not _all_ you are either."

"But how… how will be manage financially?" she stammered.

"I've talked to my realtor" he replied, "We could sell the condo. It's enough to tide us over for a year… and I was thinking I could do consults in my spare time… or teach some self defense… I just… I need this baby."

Garcia gazed at her husband's face, for the first time becoming aware of just how tired he looked. Gone was the cheeky grin she'd fallen in love with all those years ago, and the sparkle in his eyes. He looked tired and sad.

"Okay" she nodded, speaking more to herself than to him, as she stared down the hallway and thought things through, "Okay… Okay…"

"Okay?!" he asked, sounding hopeful and surprised.

She turned back to him with a sad little smile. "If you're sure this is what you want" she said, reaching for his face and holding it between both hands, "Then you know I'll support you…"

"You're saying 'yes'?!" he asked, eyes filling with unshed tears.

I'm saying 'yes'" she said, nodding and looking a little teary too.

"We can foster Spencer?" he asked, "You're saying yes to taking Spencer?!"

She gave a little nod, and he gasped as though he'd been holding his breath. Suddenly, he had hold of her face and had crashed their lips together in a hungry, almost desperate kiss.

"I love you" he mumbled, as he continued to kiss her, "Oh God, baby girl, you have no idea how much I love you!"

She smiled into the kiss. "I love you too."

Suddenly, he was fumbling for his phone in his pocket as it began to vibrate. She pulled away to see what he was doing. "Is that a phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she asked with a little roll of the eyes and a sarcastic smirk.

"Miss Smiley?" he answered, giving Garcia a meaningful look, "I was just about to call you!"

* * *

"Hmmm?" he murmured, slowly becoming aware of a warm hand carding through his hair and pushing the bangs out of his eyes. He must have fallen asleep.

"Spencer?" said a soft voice, a presence hovering beside the bed, "Kid, come on, wake up for me, will ya?"

"D- Derek?!" he asked, voice hoarse from crying, He began to sit up and wiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. "You came back?"

"Hey now" replied Morgan, "I told you I was coming back. Have I ever broken a promise?"

Spencer shook his head, but his cheeks flushed pink with shame. He felt bad for doubting the man. Derek had come back after all.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like that, did you?" asked Morgan, and he felt gentle fingers tousle his hair again. It felt nice and he couldn't help leaning into the touch a little. It was almost like the way his mom used to play with his hair when he was really little.

"Spence, you know I wouldn't do that" sighed Morgan, "I'd never do that to you."

Spencer just shrugged in a dejected kind of way and wiped again at his nose and eyes. The man did sound sincere but then again, he wasn't sure what he knew and what he didn't know anymore.

"There's someone I want you to meet" he heard the man say, "She's very excited about meeting you. In fact, she flew in from Quantico this morning just so you two could get to know each other…"

That's when he heard a clicking sort of sound which he guessed must be the woman's shoes. They started at the door and clip clopped their way towards his bed. With them arrived a scent of something sweet and comforting, a kind of 'ice cream' smell and something else that he couldn't identify. He liked the way she smelled.

"Hello Spencer" said a soft voice, "I'm Penelope."


End file.
